The Problem with SelfSufficiency
by cristhekool
Summary: As a veil is drawn between Susan and her siblings, she struggles to overcome the loneliness that has crept into her spirit after their last visit to Narnia. But she's not the only one who suffers. Pre-TLB, sequel to Alone. I own nothing of course.
1. Chapter 1

She'd woken to the sensation of perfectly warm sheets upon her skin and deliciously cool air upon her face. This was just the way that she preferred to awaken, neutrally and silently, with no outside interference disturbing the precious moment. It was something that she treasured deeply, that she was terribly, stubbornly jealous of. Her siblings teased her mercilessly about the obsession (for that was what it was, plainly stated), but she let them, secretly smirking to herself.

Peter loved to stand outside at dawn, unobserved (or so he thought) and greet the sun with his upturned face. Edmund had a secret passion for rain; the heaviness of the air, the cleansing he felt when soaked to the bone. She vaguely recalled looking down into a garden from a castle (must have been during a visit to Scotland) watching him stand ever so still with the faintest smile on his face, black hair plastered against his porcelain skin. Lucy simply adored chocolate.

These were all selfish pleasures, and not in a bad way. Everybody, Susan believed, needed little things to remind themselves that yes, they were in love with life. Yes, they felt good. Hers was waking up in the morning, stretching and nuzzling her pillow, needing to use the loo and defiantly sinking deeper into the mattress. Those minutes were sacred, intimate, and thoroughly hers.

Lucy peeked around the door, finger the ends of her loose hair and biting her upper lip. She knew better than to disturb Susan before she was ready for company.

"Come in, Lu. I'm awake."

Lucy pushed the door wide open and bounded into the room, already in her blue and white uniform. This was the day that she would return to boarding school. Susan had forgotten.

"Good morning, Su," Lucy whispered, leaning over her sister to peck her cheek, smelling of soap and oatmeal. "How did you sleep?"

_Terribly, thank you. _

"Very well, Lucy. I'm sorry I slept so late." Susan pushed herself up and patted the bed beside her.

"That's alright." Lucy grinned and perched on the edge of the bed, legs swinging. She was still only 5'0 at fourteen, but didn't seem concerned about the lack of growth.

"I was wondering if you would braid my hair?" She pouted ever so slightly, hazel eyes wide and fingers unconsciously caressing Susan's arm.

Susan felt a sudden surge of affection wash over her, and grabbed Lucy in a tight hug. "Of course I will. Turn around."

"Mum and Dad are driving me to the train station, before they go to work," Lucy babbled as Susan carefully plaited her hair, "Mum says that you are to fetch Edmund from Bobby's, and see to it that he eats lunch."

Robert Pines, a.k.a. Bobby, was one of Ed's pals from school. He was always staring down Susan's shirts, freckled cheeks flushing bright red whenever she caught him, but he also kept Ed preoccupied during the summer, and she was grateful for it. Ed was a trial when bored.

"Mum says that you're to shove it down his throat, if he won't eat by himself," Lucy giggled, immediately wincing afterward when Susan tugged especially hard on her hair, "Ouch. Well, she didn't 'exactly' tell me that, not in so many words, but I'm certain that's what she meant."

"Oh, really," Susan grunted, smiling to herself. Mum was positive that Ed was trying to starve himself, as he only ate during meals now, as opposed to snitching from the icebox nearly every hour. Susan suspected that he'd finally stopped growing, and therefore was not as hungry as he used to be, but hadn't spoken her thoughts out loud.

"Yes, really. Do you have to pull quite so hard, Susan? My hair won't come undone if you're gentle." Lucy passed back a silver ribbon, pouting.

"Me, gentle," Susan teased, though the word tugged painfully at her heartstrings, strangely enough. She neatly tied the bow at the end of Lucy's braid, giving the younger girl a little push. "Now, off with you. I'll come down to bid you farewell in a few minutes."

"Alright." Lucy bounced off the bed, smoothing down the top of her hair (as if Susan would ever do her hair sloppily). She leaned in for another embrace, giggling a bit as Susan sighed long-sufferingly.

She didn't know that Susan tried to cradle her, tried to kiss her cheek just so, as Peter would have had done. Lucy only knew warmth as it spread through her, warmth that had been missing for the past two weeks since her eldest brother had left for university, and held Susan tighter. "You're such a good sister, Su."

"Thank you, Lucy."

The Pine's lived just beyond Finchley's public park, in a sunny yellow house with a picket fence surrounding the perimeter and red petunias bordering the walkway. Susan's black heels clicked rhythmically on the concrete as she turned into their yard from the sidewalk. She stepped around little Harold as he played a solitary game of hopscotch, spotted Edmund in the backyard, playing a game of catch with Bobby. He looked happy enough, happier than he had been since Peter had left, diving for the ball and chuckling good-naturedly when it sailed just past his fingertips. Susan wanted to collect him immediately and be off, but thought the notion impolite. So she went up the stairs and rang the doorbell, preparing herself for at least a half-hour of listening to Mrs. Pines gripe about whatever came to mind.

"Ah, Susan. I was expecting your mother." Mrs. Pines grimaced pleasantly and stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind her. The distinctive pungency of onions permeated the air around her, causing Susan to step back a few paces.

"Mum had to see Lucy to the train station," she explained hurriedly, eyes beginning to water, "I've come to collect Ed."

"Yes, Edmund." She leaned in closer, frowning. "I swear he snores louder than my own husband, and that's saying a lot. Heaven knows that Gregory has a nose the size of Wales."

"I…I'm sorry," Susan said, for lack of better words.

"Well, it isn't your fault, child. Just thought you should know."

Susan knew. "Thank you for the consideration, Mrs. Pines."

"Of course." Mrs. Pines sniffed and waited for Susan to respond. When there was only awkward silence, she turned towards the boys, cupped her mouth. "Bobby! Bobby!"

Susan flinched, nearly covered her ears. Harold didn't miss a beat, feet pounding away on the walk.

"Bobby! It's time for Edmund to go home!"

"Gee, Mum," Bobby whined as they approached, his brown curls sticking up in all sorts of directions. He saw Susan behind her and immediately glanced at her chest, cheeks flaring bright red.

"Hello, Bobby." She smiled graciously, wished she had a coat.

"H-hi."

"Come on," Ed grunted impatiently, grabbing Bobby by his skinny arm and practically dragging him into the house. He winked at Susan in passing, sensing her discomfort and finding amusement in it.

Susan was tempted to say hurry up, but didn't dare with Mrs. Pines watching so closely. Peter's laughter echoed in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away, busied herself with staring at the ground, the toy soldier just beside her left foot.

"Well, have a good day, if you can," Mrs. Pines grunted, shuffling back into her house after Edmund had reappeared, bag slung over his shoulder. Susan waved and clicked speedily away.

"This isn't the way home," he remarked calmly after they bypassed the park, long legs easily overtaking Susan with a few well-placed steps.

"I'm taking you to lunch." She looked out into the street on the pretense of searching for automobiles, avoiding his clever gaze much as she had for the past year. Peter grew frustrated, Lucy coerced, but Ed read Susan's emotions like an open book. It had always been that way with them.

"Lunch," he inquired as they strode quickly past her favorite coffee shop, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What for?"

"Oh, I don't know. I suppose for 'eating'? Wake up, Ed."

"I am awake, you're just being odd today," he protested, ushering her around a puddle of some slimy substance that she dared not identify. Once, Susan would have been very grateful for the helping hand. Now she jerked away, for reasons that she could not explain to herself, nor justify.

"Well, I don't want to argue, alright?" She stopped infront of a bistro, flung open the door with a huff of frustration. His eyes bored into the back of her head.

"I wasn't arguing, Su."

She didn't deign to reply, and he growled softly, slamming the door shut behind them loud enough to draw the attention of nearly every customer and employee in the building. Susan felt her cheeks flare bright red, and dragged Ed bodily to a table in the back. She punished him by not letting him pull out her chair.

"Hello, I'm Betty," their waitress practically purred, sizing Susan up in an indirect fashion, and batting her eyelashes at Edmund. "How can I be of service to you today?"

"I'll take coffee to start, and he'll have a…"

Ed grinned, leaning forward conspiratorially. "He'll have a water. Thank you, Betty."

Betty giggled and strutted away to the next table (a group of elderly women), where her demeanor changed entirely. Ed sank back into his seat with a little smirk.

"Oh, come off it," Susan hissed, opening the menu viciously. "Or I'll tell her you're sixteen."

He shrugged, not really caring. Susan had belittled him, and now he would return the favor, underhandedly. It was simply his way. "Tell her then."

"I think I will," she mumbled, sensing a challenge and unwilling to admit that she was thoroughly incapable of besting Ed in a game of strategy. Where was Peter when she needed him?

_Off at University, without you_. A flash of anguish shot through her, but she tidily tucked it away, unwilling to address what had happened between her and Peter just yet. Not with her younger brother sneaking appreciative glances at Betty's rear end.

They both ordered chicken sandwiches and salads, glaring at each other over the table. It was only when the food arrived that Susan tentatively attempted real conversation, tiring of the awkward silence.

"Did you enjoy your stay over," she asked, cutting her sandwich straight down the middle, then cross-wise into four squares.

"Yep." He grabbed his own sandwich off the plate and sunk his teeth into it, dark eyes sparkling.

"Good." She took a dainty bite.

"Yep." He swallowed.

"Don't speak with your mouth full, Ed," she warned, before realizing that she was still chewing, provoking a chuckle.

"I wasn't really speaking, per say," he calmly corrected her, sprinkling his salad with pepper. "More…offering an affirmative."

The salad was bitter, or was it her mouth mirroring her mind? "Pass the salt, please."

"So why exactly did Mum send you to fetch me? I'm perfectly capable of walking six blocks on my own."

Susan stared down at her plate, suddenly not feeling very hungry at all. Ed stopped with salad halfway to his mouth, frowning, sensing the change.

"She said 'take Ed to lunch'…"

"But?" He lowered the fork, let it clink on his plate.

"I think she wants us to spend more time together. All of us, really, but since it's just you and I now…"

Edmund hummed impartially and ate his forkful, but she could see that he was at least slightly disturbed.

"She's worried, you know," Susan continued, prodded by her growing sense of loneliness, strong even during socialization. "We aren't all as close as we used to be."

"Huh."

"Ed…"

"Well," he caved, looking up skeptically. "It's not as if you 'want' to be with us anymore. You shun Peter, harass me. Lucy doesn't have a clue, but if you keep it up she'll avoid you too. You never want to talk about Nar…"

"Don't say that word!"

Silence. He leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth grimly.

"You can't blame it all on me, Ed," she continued in a softer tone, hands trembling, "I know all of you talk about me, when I'm not around to explain myself. I feel so…isolated."

She found herself close to tears and gripped her fork hard enough to leave marks in her palm. Ed studied her with that calculating gaze, peeling away layers without asking a single question.

"What happened between you and Peter, the day before he left?"

She was so tired of the games, the concealing. "We fought. I…I hadn't told him I was staying behind. I hurt him, badly." It was agonizing to admit, like squeezing a pussy wound.

"Why?" Ed finished off his own sandwich and reached for hers. She didn't try to stop him.

"I was, I am, angry, Ed. Angry about all of this nonsense." That was no excuse, and they both knew it.

"So you hurt him because you wanted to."

"Yes," she admitted in a whisper, taking a sip of her coffee. Ed didn't say a word.

"Anything else I can do for you, dears," Betty simpered, observing the tension with a somewhat crafty smile. No doubt she thought they were a couple calling it quits.

'Yes," Susan growled, sitting up straighter, "For starters, you can take your eyes off of my underage brother and turn them in a different direction. Secondly, this salad is extremely bitter, and I wish to see a manager. Thirdly…please bring us the bill."

_Betty paled and scurried away. Susan smiled triumphantly, looking at her siblings with great expectancy. They did not disappoint her. _

_"Bravo, Susan," Peter remarked suavely, very impressed. Ed grinned in agreement, punching at the air. Lucy giggled and raised her goblet. _

_"Three cheers for Susan, the best and bravest of us all!"_

_"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"_

"I'm afraid the manager isn't available at the moment, miss. You can have your bloody bill though." Betty smirked, cocking her hip and looking down at Susan with an imperious air. She began to walk away, towards the kitchens.

"Excuse me." Susan pushed her chair back and stood, beginning to grow extremely angry. People were starting to notice now, heads tilting in interest. Ed was on his feet as well, taking Susan's shaking arm. He knew when she was reaching overload.

"What?" Betty was on offensive now, nostrils flaring.

"How dare you curse at me," Susan cried in outrage, feeling an unfamiliar tension settle into her muscles. "I certainly 'will' see the manager, whether he's 'available' or not. I intend to report this deplorable behavior at once."

"Su," Ed murmured, warningly, discerning something Susan could not. She shrugged him off.

"It's a 'she' to you, miss," Betty growled, stepping closer, "And I say that she doesn't want to see you."

"And why ever not?"

"Don't you get it, Su." Ed now put a wiry arm about her waist, began to drag her towards the door. "She 'is' the manager."

"That's right, hon." Betty clenched her fists. "I'm the boss around here, and I say get out."

"Well, 'I' say," Susan whispered, feeling the courage drain away, "That I want our bill."

"Get out." Betty was done with her. "I don't want your money."

"Why don't I ever see these things coming?" Susan cried aloud in frustration, clicking double pace to get away from Betty's Barnyard. What kind of name was that? She hadn't noticed the hanging sign until they were outside, almost without her purse (Ed had managed to nab it on the way out).

Now she snatched it from him, yanking on the zipper, desperate for a handkerchief. Tears were dripping off her chin. "I must look a sight."

"You're always a sight, Su," Ed attempted to joke, but it fell rather flat.

"Don't start with me, Edmund. If you hadn't encouraged her…"

Out of the corner of her blurry eye, Susan saw his chin fall in embarrassment. "You're right, Su. I apologize."

"What is it with you men," she went on as if she hadn't heard, gesturing wildly and nearly hitting Ed with her elbow, "You stare, and smirk, and don't take responsibility for your provocative actions."

"Didn't I just say…"

"First that silly lad at school who thought I was named 'Phyllis.' Phyllis! Then Robert Sandhowler, who turned out to be a 'complete' prat. Now there's Bobby, no offense, and his preoccupation with my…my…"

"Boobs," Ed supplied, very solemnly. He was so solemn, in fact, that Susan stopped and turned to face him, eyes narrowed not in suspicion, or annoyance, or even astonishment at him even daring to speak that word aloud. Instead, her eyes met his in mutual, terrible thought.

Bobby. Boobs. Bobby. Boobs. Bobby. Booby. Bobby.

"Booby Bobby," they breathed simultaneously. No more needed to be said.

Susan began to sniffle again, overcome by the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Ed slung his arm about her shoulder, nudged her towards the next block. "Come on, Su. Let's go home."

"That's the most clever thing you've said all day, Ed."

"How would you know? You haven't 'seen' me all day."

"Shut up."


	2. Chapter 2

They laughed the entire walk home, which was a rarity that pleased Susan profoundly. The casual arm draped about her shoulder cleansed better than a tight embrace, a gentle kiss, a warm smile. (It couldn't quite touch a Lucy hug, though). The smell of Ed's man-sweat was disgusting (Susan was just below his armpit), but she didn't walk ahead, didn't try to embarrass him by pointing it out. Why, she pondered to herself, stepping around the unidentifiable puddle that they'd passed earlier, before the fiasco at the diner. Why am I behaving so irrationally? She didn't even recognize her joy right off; such was its depth. Marveling at the strangeness within her breast and trying to pick it apart, she scowled inside while outwardly tittering at a rather poor joke.

They entered the house.

"When is your shift?" Ed dropped his bag and wandered into the kitchen, opened the cupboards and retrieved Lucy's old sippy cup, minus lid. Susan paused in the doorway to remove her heels.

"Four o' clock," she was bent over at the waist, picking at the clasps that bound the shoes to her ankle. "I'm going in early, though."

"Why?" Ed turned on the tap and ran the cup underneath it, let the flowing water soothe his imagination (he had always been obsessed with germs). Then he lifted the sippy to his lips, gulped down its contents, filled it again. Susan went into the drawing room and sat down on the couch, flexing her aching feet. She turned towards the kitchen, partially for the sake of conversation, partially to avoid the picture that rested on the little window table, next to Dad's portrait in uniform. Herself and Peter at their graduation bash, mouths stretched wide with promise, arms pressed together made her head ache.

"I want to study," she said to Edmund, who was now rummaging through the bookcase in search of something he hadn't already read. "Just because I'm not going to university doesn't mean that I've lost interest in learning."

"Right," he grunted, tone colored in skepticism. Boredom was beginning to set in, and with boredom came the customary attitude shift.

"What?"

"Nothing. Why do you ask?"

She scowled prettily, tucked her legs underneath her skirt and leaned back against the cushions. "No reason. Fancy a game of chess?"

Ed's dark head whipped around in surprise. "You? Chess?"

"Yes, of course." Susan crossed her arms, a bit irritated. "Have you forgotten? I used to play with you more than Peter did, during the war."

"I haven't forgotten," Ed responded in deliberate fashion, already crouching and reaching for the board on the bottom shelf. "It's just that..."

"Just what, Ed?" She slid off the couch and onto the floor, scooting until she was a few feet away from him, lying down on her stomach.

"Eh...well, you haven't touched a piece since..."

"Since we left the Professors'?" That was true. School had been all consuming, and Lucy had never been very interested in mind games.

"I suppose so," he murmured, avoiding Susan's gaze with a strange air about him. It wasn't guilt (as was common in Ed), almost the reverse, as if 'she' had something to feel ashamed of. That simply couldn't be, though. Against her better judgement, Susan let it slip and cuffed her brother playfully, wrestling the board away from him.

__

Years later, bent over his grave with black orchids and red roses in hand, she would recognize bitterness for what it was, and weep silently. The crows would wail overhead. She would go home, and heave the chess set out the window in a fit of agonized rage, then reach for it as it fell. Ed...

"Well," she boasted, setting the pawns in place, "I can still beat you."

His chocolate eyes jerked up, sparked to life with mischief. "I don't recall you ever winning a match."

"Selective memory, Ed. Selective memory."

* * *

"Peter! Peter Pevensie!"

Below water the voice was muffled, but Peter knew his own name rather well, had no trouble discerning it. He'd heard it screamed in battle, whispered with desire (mostly unwarranted), garbled by laughter. Spoken calmly. He held his breath and floated to the surface of the pond, immediately feeling sunlight, warm and clean upon his clammy skin.

"Peter." The voice was softer, now that he'd come into view. Prof. Clines, the history teacher, crouched gingerly on the bank in his grey suit. His lips stretched awkwardly into a smile, and though he seemed at ease, Peter knew about his fear of water. (The boys in his dormitory tended to chat.)

"Yes, sir?" He swam around his peers and crawled onto the muddy slope.

"There's a post come for you, from home." The professor jumped up and back, avoiding Peter's dripping form with intensive care. "From your family."

"Oh. Thank you, sir."

"That's not all, lad," Clines went on hurriedly, when Peter made to go back into the pond (Mum wrote almost every day). "There's one from your sister as well."

"Susan?" Unknown to the professor, Peter's heart began to double its pace.

"No...it's from the wee one, Lucy." Even though classes hadn't yet begun, everyone knew about Lucy. Peter couldn't stop boasting about her.

"Oh!" Peter reached for his towel. "I'd forgotten her early start. Thank you again."

"Anytime, lad. I left the letters in your room, on the pillow."

_Dear Peter, I don't doubt you've forgotten that my classes begin three weeks ahead this year. Don't try to deny it, I can see you, ha. I'll bet you can see me too. _(Peter closed his eyes briefly, pictured Lucy bent over a desk, pen clenched rather violently in her palm) _I actually don't mind returning early. The grounds here are perfectly smashing, with plenty of room for recreation. Guess what? We, the girl's school, actually have a tennis court! I was so surprised, Peter. They installed it over the summer, but I don't know how long it will stay. The l__asses here are already gagging, complaining that it's 'huge' and 'takes up space' and 'is for boys anyway'. They simply won't stop! It makes me angry, because I want to play tennis. Simpering over the lads across the street and painting toenails is fine, up to a point. B__ut after a few weeks, it becomes terribly boring! _(Peter imagined her saying 'bor-ing', and chuckled) _I wish you were here, and Edmund and Susan. At least Ed will be back in a month, but until then I can't be merry. Life is simply dull without you. I have to go to class now, but I'll write again tomorrow. _

_Forever with love_,

_Your Lucy_

"Oh, Lucy," Peter whispered, folding the letter neatly and laying it on his desk, "I miss you too."

He missed them all.


	3. Chapter 3

"I do hope Lucy is behaving herself," Susan murmured, mostly to the windowpane and the storm smashing against its smooth surface. Ed just so happened to be nearby, pulling on his thick, yellow galoshes with sharp, eager motions, rushing to get outside before the downpour slowed to drizzle.

"What makes you think that she wouldn't?" He stomped to the coat rack, eyed his raincoat skeptically.

"I don't know." Susan stood and turned on the lamp. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the house had darkened to twilight beneath the heavy clouds.

"Then don't think about it," he said simply, forgoing the coat and flinging open the back door. A gust of wet wind nearly threw him into the wall.

"Are you certain you want to go out in this," Susan shouted over a rumble of thunder, rushing into the kitchen to protect the bills lying on the table. Her paperwork from the library was already flying across the drawing room, heading for the staircase.

Ed grinned and thrust his lanky figure out into the storm, hollering something that she couldn't understand. The door slammed shut behind him.

Susan collected her papers and took them upstairs, laid them out on her bed to dry.

Fifteen minutes later the storm seemed to be slowing, but the lessening rain didn't fool Susan's intuition. The sky was still dark, plunging Finchley into a premature night, and the heaviness in the air was not just from humidity. Something was brewing, and Susan fixed the knowledge of it firmly into her mind. Therefore, when the sirens began to go off, she thought she was prepared.

She bolted off the toilet seat and yanked up her skirt, threw the door open and hurried to Lucy's room out of pure habit before remembering her sister's absence. The lamp had gone out. She opened the dresser for a torch, and upon locating it floundered down the stairs into darkness.

She flung open the door and stumbled out into the gale.

"Ed!"

Although the rain was lighter, the wind had grown in strength and ferocity, nearly pushing her to the ground as she stumbled towards the shelter, arms outstretched. Combined with her heart-pounding fear, it made what was a tolerable rainstorm seems like to what she envisioned a hurricane might be like. The sirens were growing louder. Susan felt ready to faint, and stumbled.

An arm enclosed itself about her waist, firm and strong, steering her through the darkness and she instinctively assumed it was Peter. In spite of her fear she found the strength to push him away, hard. He fell with a cry of shock that was surprisingly high pitched, and she was alone again. Susan began to hyperventilate, and sank to her knees, clutching the torch to her breasts.

A growl (from the sky or Peter she couldn't say), and two arms lifted her clean off the ground, up and onto something hard and moving. Then she heard a creak, and went from churning darkness into still darkness.

"Put me down!" She kicked, heard a groan and found herself flat on her back, torch still clenched in her hand. Fingers groped her own and snatched the light away, clicked it on. Peter was instantly transformed into Edmund, soaked through and shaking, his dark eyes wide and glowing red in the yellow light. He stared down her incredulously, ready to start yelling. She turned onto her side and promptly gagged, and the moment was gone. A bucket was thrust under her head. Ed held her upright, turned his face away in disgust as her supper came up and out. The door shook as if invisible arms sought to fling it open. Beyond the door, the world spun.

"Now look here, Su," Ed grunted when the spasms began to slow, wetting a cloth (they still kept emergency supplies in the shelter) and pressing it into her hands, then snatching it back with a sigh when she stared blankly at the far wall. He was gentle when he wiped off her mouth, in spite of his obvious anger, and even went so far as to turn the cloth over and remove some of the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." She turned away when he finished and crawled onto one of the bunks, fighting the urge to cover her ears and cry, like Lucy used to, during the Blitz. But there were no bombs falling from the sky now.

"It's just a storm," he growled, laying the cloth over the soiled bucket and moving as far away as possible. "I don't know why you're so upset."

"I'm sorry," she repeated, very quietly. "I heard the sirens, I thought…"

Susan couldn't say the rest, but Ed understood, tucked against the shallow stairwell and staring at his knees, troubled. Even after the sirens stopped blaring, and the sky began to clear, he didn't stir. Neither did she, tucking her head against the wall, listening to his soft, almost reassuring breath. After a while, he clicked off the torch, and plunged them into mutually relieving darkness.

Susan dreamt of Narnia.

* * *

"Edmund! Telephone!"

Susan awoke in her bed, tucked beneath cool sheets, in a nightgown. The rain was gone, replaced by rich, saturated dusk and it's solemn stillness (grey and green and blue). She immediately felt depressed, and pushed aside the sheets, opened the door to see Edmund standing in the hallway, talking animatedly into the black mouthpiece. By the way he grimaced, lowering his voice upon spotting her in the doorway, Susan knew that Peter was on the other end.

"Yes," Ed was saying (his voice carried, whether he wanted it to or not), "Yes, it was tolerably bad. The neighbors nearly lost their roof, shingles everywhere. Yes, the Holmes. Well, we're all right, a bit shaken up." He looked directly at Susan when he said 'shaken up', expression unreadable but definitely not in her favor. Tired of politics, Susan wandered into the bathroom across the hallway and began to comb her hair, still listening.

"Mum's fine, she and Dad were out of town during the worst of it. Uh huh…well. Are you certain? All right, I'll check, but I doubt it. Susan." Ed poked his head around the doorjamb, deigning to look guilty. "Do you want to speak with Peter?"

Susan knew he was expecting a no from the way he stood, light on his toes in anticipation. The assumption made her angry. She held out her hand for the receiver.

"Yes," Ed sighed, scratched his head uncomfortably, "Here she is. Take care, old chap."

Susan held the contraption against her ear, heard Peter breathing, felt her stomach knot.

"Hello, Peter."

"Susan. How are you?" He was trying to be pleasant. That was a bad sign.

"Well enough."

Awkward silence. Ed squeezed into the bathroom and began to brush his teeth, watching Susan out of the corner of his eye.

"Good. (pause, sigh) I heard about the storm, Su. How are you feeling?"

This was different than 'how are you?' This question asked more.

"Strangely tired," Susan had to admit, warming to the softness in his voice. "The sirens startled me a bit."

"You'll be all right?"

"Yes," she assured him decisively, stepping into the hallway and sinking to the floor with knees tucked up against her chin. "It's nothing that proper sleep can't fix."

"Ah. I won't keep you from it, then. Is Dad around?"

He was eager to end the conversation, but she clutched the telephone harder. "Peter."

"Yes?"

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

He didn't say anything. Susan's knuckles turned white.

"Peter? Are you there?"

"Quite. I just wasn't expecting that."

"Weren't you?"

"No. But I appreciate it."

Dad came bounding up the stairs, looked at Susan pointedly. He held out his hand.

"I think Dad wants to speak with you now. Good night."

"Yes," he stirred, rustling faintly over the line, "Good night, Susan."

She passed over the telephone and stood, went back into the bathroom. Ed said nothing, but there was the faintest trace of a smile on his lips.

"Oh, shut up," she sighed, "Pass the paste."


	4. Chapter 4

Only Mum and Dad had accompanied Lucy to the train that took her back to boarding school, but Susan rose at six 'o clock a.m. to see Edmund off, anticipating the loneliness that she would feel once he was gone. The four of them rode to the station in silence, parents staring straight ahead, children out their respective windows. They all felt the solemnity that hovered in the air, heavy and foreboding, but refused as a whole to address it.

Susan glanced at two empty middle seats, one in front and one in back, and imagined Peter and Lucy there, surreptitiously poking each other, lightening the mood without conscious effort. Then Ed slung his carryall on top of Peter's ghost, and the illusion was broken.

Dad pulled up to the curb, let Susan and Edmund out. "We'll be by in a few moments," he grunted, looking around for a parking spot. Mum dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief (she always cried, consistently, every year) and waved as if this was already goodbye.

The station was packed with teenage boys and the noises they made; shouting, hollering, chuckling, whistling as Susan marched past in her red kitten heels (which she now regretted wearing). Ed hovered at her side protectively, sullen-faced and sweaty in the late-summer heat, and she chuckled inwardly, while she still could. The whistle was already blowing.

Mum and Dad joined them just in time for the customary hugs and handshakes. Then Ed was stepping off the platform and onto the train, yelling wisecracks over the whistle and trying to make Mum smile. Susan looked up into his freckled face and felt her heart constrict.

"Ed! Edmund!"

The train was moving and the noise was nearly deafening. Ed scowled and cupped his ear. "What?"

"Take care of Lucy!"

"What?"

"I said," she jogged a little to keep pace, "Take care of Lucy!"

_Oh,_ his expression seemed to say, _is that all_?

It wasn't, but Susan couldn't keep up anymore. Out of breath, she staggered to a halt and contented herself to wave. He returned the gesture, a bit mockingly, and disappeared inside the cab, taking Susan's hope with him. Hope for what? She couldn't have said.

With his departure came cooler weather and blank silence, not the type that contains something ready to burst, but the silence that drags downward, purposeless, still. Stagnant. Susan spent most of her time at the library, enjoying the work, but after a month preferred to stay at home and listen mindlessly to the radio. It was under these sad circumstances, depressed and lonely, that she agreed to another date with Robert Sandhowler.

Thick-boned, red-haired and ruddy cheeked, Robert was not the sort of lad that normally interested Susan. However, he had a wonderful smile that split his face wide open, and a generous heart (especially towards children), and had captured her attention at the graduation bash. She had come down the porch stairs on Peter's arm, spotted the hefty fellow spinning little boys near the tables, and felt a surge of interest in spite of herself. Although he wasn't the complete reason she had stayed in Finchley, he was part of it.

He'd tried to kiss her on their third date, open mouthed. Susan had kicked his shins.

Two months later, he came round, shamefaced, and asked if he could buy her supper that evening. No, she said, but Saturday tea would be lovely. She almost regretted saying yes (of a sort), but couldn't bring herself to be unhappy about her decision. She was desperate for the company of a young man.

"Susan," Mum inquired softly, knocking on the bedroom door at half past noon. "Are you almost dressed? He's coming down the walkway."

"Nearly, Mum. I won't be a moment." Susan clipped on her only pearl earrings and examined her reflection closely: pale green dress, white tennis shoes (she didn't want give a forward impression with heels), hair flowing softly over one shoulder. She looked demure enough (not at all saucy), almost ghostlike, but a bit of rouge helped with the paleness.

There, now she was saintly. If thoughts of the Immaculate Lady couldn't put Robert off, then there really was no hope.

She led him into the kitchen and sat him down at the table, set the kettle to boiling. Robert fidgeted, uncomfortable with Mum bustling about, sorting laundry in the drawing room.

"You should be grateful that Dad isn't home," Susan murmured softly, chopping up lettuce for a salad and smiling to herself. "He would glare at you all afternoon."

"Doesn't like me much, eh," Robert rumbled. His voice was much too loud for the modest-sized kitchen.

"Well, you weren't exactly a gentleman when last he heard of you."

"That's the truth," he agreed, scratching his arm. Susan laughed, turning to glare at him playfully and earning a wink.

"I like that," she commented after a moment of content silence.

"What? That I'm not a gentleman?"

"No, silly." She drew down the cutting board and began to chop a tomato. "That you're so blunt."

"I aim to please," he replied, and sounded so much like Peter that she started, cut her fingertip.

"Ouch!"

"Are you alright?" He pushed away from the table and reached for her hand, intent on examining the oozing incision. Susan blushed and turned around, heading towards the sink.

"I'm fine, it's just a scrape."

"Let me see," he pressed, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her back towards him. His palm was hot and dry as it cradled hers, and the intensity in his manner made her nervous. Still, she couldn't bring herself to pull away, mesmerized by the strength in his fingertips, by the way her stomach clenched in anticipation.

RING. RING. Mum stirred in the drawing room.

"Susan, love? Could you get that?"

Never before had Susan been so grateful (and so disappointed) to hear the telephone. Flustered, she pulled away and stumbled out of the kitchen, up the stairs. Robert stayed where he was, brow furrowed.

"Pevensie residence?"

"Hello, Susan." It was Peter.

"Peter," she drawled, then had to laugh, because even seventy miles away, Peter was still defending her honor. From the silence on the other end, he didn't quite get the jest.

"How are you? You sound smashing." She tried to soothe his ego.

"Well enough. Listen, Su, could you do a favor for me?"

She thought about her answer, very seriously, then scolded herself for having to ponder at all. "Yes. What do you need?"

He sighed in relief. "Could you look in my bedside table, in the top drawer, and see if there's an envelope with the initial's J.C.Q. on it?"

"Certainly. One moment."

"Thanks, Su. I appreciate it."

"Susan," Robert called from the stairwell, sounding a bit impatient and nervous. Likely he thought she was going to kick him out again (it was a definite possibility).

"Just a moment," she replied serenely, yanking open the drawer and sifting through the many teeth-marked pencils, Lucy drawings and yellowed stationery within. The letter Peter wanted was beneath a stack of wrinkled papers (all with four happy stick figures doodled upon them). Susan snatched it up and rushed for the door, only to nearly collide with Robert. They both jumped, him in pure embarrassment, her in surprise that quickly turned to anger.

"What are you doing? Go back downstairs at once!"

He scurried away, and she almost saw a tail hanging dejectedly between his legs. Chuckling, she picked up the telephone. "I found it."

"Who was that," Peter demanded, voice torn between concern and amusement.

"No one. What did you need the letter for?"

"Su. Who was that?" He was not going to give in that easily.

Susan sighed, turned the letter over and peered at the back. "Robert Sandhowler, if you must know. Now…"

"Sandhowler? I thought you were rid of that..."

"Don't, and no."

"Is anyone home with you?" Peter breathed heavily into the receiver, growing agitated. Susan crossed her arms and scowled. Now she was irritated.

"Mum's here, not that it matters, and don't start in on that. What about the letter."

"Why was he coming upstairs?"

"Peter!" She stomped, head falling back in exasperation. "It. Doesn't. Matter. Please shut up about it."

"Fine," he grumbled (Susan could see his sullen pout), "Please open the letter."

"Done."

"Alright, could you read the date in the upper right-hand corner out loud?"

"The twenty-first of May, 1944." A scratching sound came over the line, most likely Peter writing the information down. "Is there a reason I'm neglecting 'my' date for you?"

"Because he's a prat."

"Peter!"

"Sorry," he lied, a smile in his voice. "That's all I needed to know, thank you."

"What's the date for?"

"Something to do with school," he replied vaguely. She knew he was punishing her for withholding, but was so pleased to be having a decent, relatively tension free conversation with him that she quite forgave the slight.

"When are you coming home?"

"Christmas Eve, if all goes well. I'll see you then?"

"Of course. Goodbye, Peter."

"Goodbye." They hung up.

Susan stood with her back against the wall for some odd seconds, eyes closed and a pretty smile playing over her lips, before remembering Robert and trekking back down the stairs, into the kitchen.

He was bent over the counter, tossing the salad in an awkward but experienced fashion, red curls bouncing in time with the movements of his wrist. "How's your finger?"

"Better," Susan replied after a cursory glance, tucking the letter into her skirt pocket and nudging Robert out of the way. "Let me do it."

"It's done." He picked up the bowl and carried it to the table. "Could you check our tea?"

Susan was somewhat impressed with his domestic skill, and acquiesced without fuss.


	5. Chapter 5

__

"Susan! Come on, Susan, don't be a ninny pinny. You'll love it!"

Susan held the book up so that it covered her face, trying valiantly to ignore Peter and not to catch his contagious excitement. He growled playfully in response and strode from the doorway to the couch, grabbed the bindings of her book and tugged.

"Leave me alone, Peter." She flushed in irritation and pulled back harder than he was expecting, ripping the book from between his fingertips, tearing a page. At once his expression turned from mirthful to solemn, the joy draining out of him. She pretended not to see the hurt in his eyes and smoothed out the parchment fastidiously, glaring. "Now look what you did!"

"Susan." He sat beside her, and she drew back nervously, but not far enough to escape his arm as he laid it gingerly across her shoulders. "Susan, I don't understand. Why have you changed so?"

"I haven't changed," she blustered, laying down the book to cross her arms, uncomfortable with his proximity and the intimate feeling that came with it. She avoided all closeness with her siblings, as of late.

"Come on, it's not Lucy you're talking to." (Lucy was outside, having a good time) "Talk to me."

Peter tried to look into her eyes, seeking clarity, but she wouldn't have it. He pushed to his feet and hovered over her awkwardly, hand stuffed into his trouser pockets. "Please, Su. It would mean a lot to us."

"Peter," she groaned, rolling her eyes, "I'm far too old to be playing in the dirt. It's simply absurd."

"You're fifteen, Su, that's only a year younger than me. And it's leaves, not dirt."

"No difference." She set her jaw and retrieved the book, opening it to find the page she'd been reading.

"You did it all the time in Narnia."

"Well, that was Narnia," she pointed out in a superior fashion, smirking at him over the text, "This is England. There's a vast difference between the two."

"Su," Peter began, but didn't finish, sensing that she would not cave. He abruptly turned and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. Beating back a surge of guilt, Susan forcibly immersed herself in her novel, trying to ignore the squeals and roars of delight from outside. It was hard though, and after a while she retreated to her bedroom.

Red. Yellow. Green (odd). Brown.

Grass. Susan had finally reached bottom. She moved on to the next scattering of leaves, pausing to tighten the sash on her trench coat. Autumn had come suddenly upon London in gusts of bone-chilling wind, freezing rain and grey skies, punctured by the odd warm day. The temperature hadn't been above 10C for the past week, and wasn't likely to rise anytime soon. Therefore it was with a reluctant heart that Susan had slipped into an old pair of Peter's trousers and set to work clearing the lawn (it had to done before more rain fell and caused the leaves to rot).

Although raking leaves was just another chore, much like washing dishes and sorting laundry (and Susan rather liked being domestic), she had put it off for as long as possible. Now, outside with cinnamon-scented wind blowing smartly through her hair, and energy flowing through her moving limbs, Susan could not see why she'd procrastinated at all.

__

"Peter! Toss me, Peter!"

"Don't you dare, Peter Pevensie," Susan yelped, swinging around and brandishing the rake, "I just finished that pile…"

The leaves crackled mockingly. She smelled his leather jacket.

"Susan?" Mum stepped onto the front porch, wiping her hands nervously on her apron. The grey peppering her hair matched the hazy sky above, and Susan's mood-plummet below.

"Hmm," Susan offered in an absent fashion, unable to formulate a more cohesive reply. She stared at the ground.

"Darling." Mum tiptoed down the stairs and laid a warm, flour-covered hand on Susan's back. "It's getting dark. I do wish you'd come in for supper."

"Oh," Susan lowered the rake and blushed, tried to cover the moment with embarrassment and contrition, "Of course. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting."

"Think nothing of it, my love. We'll be in the kitchen."

"I've been thinking," Dad grunted, cutting into the roast beef on his plate with systematic precision. Left, right, left, right, left. The two women glanced at him, then at each other, hands stilling on their forks.

"What about, dear," Mum finally pressed, when he did not continue. Dad sometimes needed to be nudged in order to complete his thought processes. It was one of the many defects that had traveled home with him from the war, along with the lines about his mouth, and the pains in the night that he tried to hide from the children.

"I've been thinking," he repeated, as if he hadn't already said that, "And I want to invite Susan's young man over for Christmas dinner. I want to spend some time with him." From the tone of his voice, he wasn't implying a jolly good time.

"Dad," Susan ventured carefully, reaching for the butter, "Are you certain? I mean, he does have family in London. They'll surely want him home to celebrate."

"Perhaps," Dad agreed, chewing slowly. "But if he's serious about courting you, then he'll have to meet my standards first."

And Peter's. And Edmund's. And Lucy's.

Susan grimaced. "I don't think that it's a good idea."

She was treading on dangerous territory. Dad's eyes narrowed, Mum coughed quietly.

"What's not a good idea, Susan?" Dad laid down his knife, the clang sharp in the uncomfortable stillness.

"I don't think," Susan proceeded, daintily spreading the butter over her biscuit, "That he would feel at all welcome. I'm not unaware of your disapproval, nor is he. It would completely sour the evening, if not the entire holiday."

"What's souring my evening, Susan," Dad said quietly, taking a sip of milk, "Is your lack of respect for authority."

She bit her tongue and seethed inside. She would not apologize.

"He will come," Dad went on, tone allowing for no disagreement. "Or you'll stop seeing him. Agreed?"

_You're being unreasonable, _Susan thought, but did not say so aloud, for Mum's sake. Dad's personality had also picked up defects, and they had all not quite adjusted to them yet.

"I'll tell him tomorrow."

"Good. Discussion over." Dad smiled, patting Susan's hand. "Now eat up, your mother has outdone herself tonight with this beef."

Mum blushed prettily, eliciting a boyish grin. The scene was over, but Susan was still angry.

She kept her peace, because it was logical to do so.


	6. Chapter 6

"Susan!"

Lucy was the first to arrive for Christmas break, bounding out of the cab with relentless energy, bobbed hair and a healthy glow in her cheeks that had no relation to the rouge Susan had applied that morning. She rushed onto the porch with a squeal of delight, stomping the early snow out of her red Mary Jane's and throwing her arms around Susan's shoulders.

Susan felt immediately healthier upon her sister's arrival, as did Mum and Dad. Lucy was a natural light spreader, and from the moment she bounced into the house again the atmosphere within it changed completely from dreary to festive. Although it was only late November, Dad retrieved the boxes of Christmas decorations from the attic.

"We may be a bit ahead of the season, ladies," he announced at breakfast, chest puffing out proudly and eyes glinting behind his spectacles, "But I say, jolly good! We'll welcome the holiday with bright color and high spirits."

"Oh, Dad! We'll make it the best Christmas ever, really, even better than in N…" Lucy trailed off, biting her lower lip.

"In what, darling," Mum pressed, missing the heated glance between sisters, one pair of blue eyes troubled, the other narrowed and admonishing.

"It's nothing, Mum." Lucy scooped the last of her porridge into her mouth and held up her empty bowl for inspection. "May I be excused, please?"

"You may, Lucy."

Dad also pushed away from the table, moustache twitching with excitement that sent a spark of warmth through Susan, in spite of her lingering anger with him. He hadn't smiled this much since arriving on the boats a year ago and seeing all of their happy (if harder) faces. Now he grabbed Lucy's hand and together they scampered like naughty little elves into the drawing room, Lucy babbling (as usual) and Dad listening intently.

"It does my heart good to see him so contented," Mum whispered, voice barely carrying across the table, as Dad had turned on the radio. She rose and began to clear away the dirty dishes. "Are you finished, then?"

"Yes." Susan passed her the bowl and forced a smile. "Thank you."

Mum paused to gently stroke Susan's glossy hair. "You're welcome. Why don't you go help them unload the boxes?"

"Perhaps later." Susan rose, cracked the back door and peered out at the frozen ground and milky sky. "I promised to help Rose prepare for her going away party tonight."

"Rose Tendum, from the library?"

"Yes. She's leaving for Ireland on Tuesday." Susan shrugged on her coat, tied the sash tightly.

"Ah, yes; I remember now. Send my regards to her mother."

"Of course, Mum."

* * *

"She's sends what?" Rose Tendum inhaled deeply from her cigarette, caked eyelashes batting at Susan incredulously.

"Well," Susan stammered, stomping the snow off her heels, "Nothing specific. Just her 'regards'."

"Huh," the older girl snorted dismissively, smoke shooting out of her nose in a triangular haze. "Well, Mum left for the club, won't be back 'til late." She brushed past Susan, adjusting the pin on her collar. "Come along, then. We're on the terrace."

"Yes, of course." Susan hung her coat neatly in the open closet and followed the sounds of laughter through the music room and down the back hallway, out onto the enclosed porch, where nearly 40 young adults stood bunched together in little circles smoking cigarettes, dancing half-heartedly to the record Rose had playing. There was no one there that she recognized.

Perched on the railing, Rose beckoned lazily with one blood-red fingernail, an unlit stick clenched firmly between her teeth. For lack of better company, Susan joined her.

"I didn't know you smoked," Susan commented quietly, accepting a glass of punch from a passing young man. He winked at her and disappeared into the crowd.

"Everybody does," Rose replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She drew a lighter from her sweater pocket and cupped her hand about the cigarette, lit it. "Do you want one?"

The fresh smoke drifted towards Susan and set her eyes to stinging. "No, thank you."

"Have it your way," Rose grunted, then turned away from Susan, towards a gaggle of girls that were approaching rapidly, weaving as one. They were all rather tipsy, and swarmed the balcony's edge with a nerve-wracking blast of high-pitched giggles and stale air. Susan tucked herself against the railing and quietly sipped her punch, ready to go home, but unwilling to seem rude.

"Whose this, then," one of the more sober girls blurted, her kohl-rimmed eyes narrowing in on Susan's awkward slump and skimming the length of her body. Her gaze was not friendly, though she smiled.

"Who? Oh, that's Susan," Rose said dismissively. "She works at the library."

"Oh," the girls chorused as one, eyeing Susan curiously. She smiled awkwardly and wiggled her fingers. "H-hello."

"I like your dress," Kohl-eyes offered smoothly, reaching out to grab Susan's sleeve between her fingertips, rubbing the material as if inspecting it. "Where did you buy it?"

Susan looked down at her black muslin and swallowed hard, strangely unwilling to admit that she'd traded a box of playthings for it, during the war. Silently, she cursed herself for not wearing something more expensive. "I…"

"Have a cigarette," the girl went on, and it wasn't a question. She released Susan's sleeve and reached into her own vest, withdrew a Sobraine.

Susan shook her head. "No."

"Come one," Kohl-eyes pressed, smirking and wiggling the cigarette underneath Susan's nose. "Just try it, Susan. You may find you like it."

Susan took the stick.

"That's a good girl."

* * *

"Susan?"

Something was wrong. Lucy could sense it immediately, opening the front door and seeing her sister standing ever so quietly on the porch, just staring into the distance, arms crossed tightly against her chest. Perhaps she was just feeling pensive, but no. Lucy stepped onto the planks tentatively. "Susan, are you alright?"

"Don't come any closer," Susan abruptly blurted, her dark eyes flashing not with anger, but with fear. Lucy stiffened in growing anxiety and hurried back into the kitchen, bare feet slapping. "I'm getting Mum…"

"No!" Susan chased Lucy reluctantly, reaching out and grabbing her arm. "Just…don't."

Sniff. Sniff. Lucy's pert nose contracted, even as her eyes widened. "Is that 'smoke', Susan?"

"Yes, it is." Susan tiptoed towards the staircase, coat and all. "I was at party, you know. Everyone smokes at parties."

"But," Lucy followed her into their bedroom, shut the door carefully and leaned against it, concerned in a way that reminded Susan very much of Peter. She didn't want to be reminded of Peter tonight.

"What is it, Lucy," she sighed tediously, laying her coat over the bed and putting her hands on her hips. Lucy bit her lower lip.

"You didn't have one, did you? A cigarette?"

Susan began to take out her earrings, studying Lucy very closely. "No, Lu. I didn't. Now," she lay the little hoops down onto her vanity, forcing a smile, "I would appreciate it very much if you could let me undress."

She hadn't meant to sound harsh, but Lucy's face fell in a way that made Susan's back tense, almost in expectancy of a fit of tears. Lucy was no longer a little child, though. She swallowed hard and stepped backward, into the hall, closed the door quietly with downcast eyes.

Susan almost called for her, to apologize, but did not want Lucy to smell the acrid smoke on her breath.


	7. Chapter 7

Susan hadn't thought that her life would end like this, in such a mundane way, working towards such an ordinary goal. There was no hope. Death was a near certainty.

"Ed! Left!"

Edmund (seated behind the wheel of Dad's precious automobile) cried out in shock and jerked the steering wheel (hard), barely swerving around a couple exiting a bar. Lucy gripped the back of Susan's seat, hysterical giggles causing a troublesome ache behind Susan's eyes. That was the least of her worries though.

Whatever had possessed Dad to allow Edmund to drive the automobile, in the dead of winter, at the heart of the Christmas frenzy, to the most busy train station in London? There was no logic in it, at all. Susan closed her eyes and silently begged for mercy (though she could not have said who she was begging).

Silence. But where was the white light?

"Susan?" Ed shook her arm, chuckled tautly. "Su? We're at the station."

"Open your eyes, Su," Lucy whispered sympathetically, sounding a bit ill herself. Susan opened her eyes.

"We're alive." She could scarcely believe it. Ed grunted in an embarrassed fashion, turned off the ignition and slid out of the auto so that Susan and Lucy could escape its overheated confinement. Lucy scrambled out with a breathless cheer, landing with a 'crunch' in the grey snow that bordered the street.

"When does his train arrive?" Susan stepped down and smoothed her skirt, grimly surveying the swarm of people surrounding the station (it was a sheer miracle that Edmund had found a space so close to the building), the screaming children, the hollering parents, the anxious lovers.

"In," Ed checked his watch, "Five minutes, if all goes smoothly. You know how backed up the trains get this time of year."

"Well then," Lucy breathed anxiously, bouncing with nervous excitement, "We'd best get inside, or else we'll never find him."

Lucy spotted Peter first (which was almost surprising, considering her small stature) and called his name excitedly, pushing through the crowd to where he stood looking over the crowd, brightly wrapped packages and suitcases crowding his ankles.

"Peter!" Lucy squeezed past an embracing couple, into Peter's space. He opened his arms wide to her, and she flew into them with a little cry, sudden tears staining her cheeks and his wool coat.

"Oh, Peter," she was whispering when Edmund and Susan finally reached them, her face buried in his coat, "I've missed you so very much."

"I've missed you too, Lu," he replied gently, at once father and brother, ruffling her hair. Ed shoved into them both (purposefully) and yanked off Peter's cap, laid it on his own head. "For me, Peter? You shouldn't have."

"Eh, Merry Christmas, Ed," Peter joked, and the three of them laughed in one voice, appreciating each other, awkwardly treasuring the moment.

"Don't strangle him, Lucy," Susan scolded, jerking open her compact and fishing in it for nothing at all, hands trembling. Peter, rocking Lucy's clinging form back and forth, watched Susan through quiet, solemn eyes. "Hello, Su."

"Hello, Peter," she said, a bit too brightly, snapping the purse shut with a sharp click. "I suppose you're wondering where Mum and Dad are." Ed coughed and picked up a few parcels, scowling at Susan from beneath the cap.

"Um, yes." Peter pushed Lucy away gently and steered them all towards the exit, naturally falling back into authority. "Where are they?"

"At home."

"Hmm." They stepped into daylight.

"They're cleaning up," Lucy offered helpfully, falling into step with Peter and winding her arm through his. "We're throwing a fabulous bash tonight, and you know how Mum is. 'I simply can't entertain in a dirty house.'"

Ed held open the door for Lucy to climb into the backseat, stood waiting for Susan impatiently. She knew that she should move, but couldn't bring herself to, studying her nails darkly. It was Peter who finally climbed into the back, folding his long legs in awkwardly beside the packages. "You aren't going to walk, are you, Su?"

"What? No." She jerked to life, gestured for Edmund to get into the passenger's seat. "I'm driving."

* * *

"No, Edmund," Mum yelped, scurrying across the drawing room to snatch the cookie out of his hand. Ed stared down at her in mild shock, open-mouthed and hungry-eyed, teeth extended towards his own fingertips, brain not yet realizing that the food was gone from between them.

"Mum…"

"These are for the guests," Mum explained ever so calmly, though her eyes shone with nervous energy, "And not to be eaten before the party. There are some burnt cookies in the kitchen, Edmund. You may eat those."

"Why would I want to eat," he began, but she raised an eyebrow imperiously, set the cookie back down on the plate. He shut up (marginally) and shuffled towards the staircase, grumbling as loudly as he dared.

Susan (bent over the kitchen counter stirring mashed potatoes) stifled a snort of laughter, overcome by a sudden surge of Christmas glee. It wasn't polite to make fun, but there were no rules against dancing. She bounced in place, head swinging from side to side.

"What are you doing?"

Susan gasped involuntarily, nearly dropped the spoon. Peter grabbed her hand and steadied it with a mumbled apology. They were the only people in the kitchen, so she felt free to glare at him. "I'm cooking. What do I appear to be doing?"

"You appear," Peter extended his forefinger towards the bowl, "to be avoiding me."

"Huh." Susan lightly slapped his hand, passed him the spoon to lick. "More salt?"

"More butter."

"I've already put in half a stick."

"Taste it yourself."

She took a quick nibble, shook her head.

"Its salt that's missing, not butter." She viciously shook in a copious amount.

Peter nimbly seated himself onto the high countertop, long feet nearly brushing the ground. "You 'have' been avoiding me, Su. Don't try to deny it."

"Was I denying it?" Susan stirred, kept her solemn eyes on the bowl. "I think not."

Awkward silence. Mum strode into the kitchen in a furious flurry, grabbing the broom and sweeping for the third time in the past hour. Peter leaned in towards Susan, gingerly laid his hand on her potato-speckled forearm. "This isn't about, 'you know', is it?"

"No..." She plucked his hand off, set it down on the counter with a solicitious pat.

"Then what ever is the matter?"

Susan covered the bowl with a clean towel, turned away from Peter to set it on the table. "Everything."

"What?"

"Nothing."


	8. Chapter 8

The doorbell rang at half past seven, the chime unexpected and rather unwelcome as well, for the house was full and unwilling to accept any more visitors.

"Susan," Mum called politely from the kitchen, where the older women had assembled themselves to gossip, "Could you see who that is, darling?"

Susan reluctantly laid down her book, tromped obediently out of Dad's study (the only quiet room in the house), through the drawing room, to the green-wreathed door. She threw it open, a practiced smile on her face.

"'Allo, Susan Pevensie." It was Kohl-eyes, bundled up in leather and fur, stomping out a cigarette on the icy porch. "What? Shocked to see me?"

"H-how," Susan swallowed hard, heard someone walking past from inside, "How do you know where I live?"

Kohl-eyes shrugged lazily, leaned against the doorjamb. "Asked around. There's only one Pevensie family in Finchley." She stood on tiptoe, looking into the warm-lit house appreciatively. "Bloody nice."

"Oh, thank you." Susan allowed herself a full body shiver, wrapping her arms about her body. "We've really dressed it up for the holidays…"

"I didn't mean the building," Kohl-eyes interrupted, a sly glint coming into her raccoon-rimmed irises. "I meant that handsome young thing, by the radio. Is he yours?"

Of course she meant Peter, who was currently adjusting the knobs to the news station (all the men were in the drawing room), cheeks flushed from too much laughter. Susan sighed and shook her head. "That's Peter, my brother." Only then did she realize how rude she was being, and stepped to the side with an embarrassed flush. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do come in? You must be freezing."

"Nah. I was just going to ask if you wanted to…" She trailed off and straightened, entire demeanor shifting.

"Wanted to what," Dad pressed gently, looking down at Kohl-eyes curiously from behind Susan's shoulder, cigar clenched firmly between his teeth. Susan hadn't even heard him approaching.

"Wanted to come over to my house," Kohl-eyes inquired breathlessly, extending her hand, "You must be Mr. Pevensie. I'm Caroline Teverly, a friend of Susan's."

"You know this girl, Susan?" Dad shook Kohl-eyes' hand firmly, softening to her full smile and wide eyes. Susan nodded slowly, amazed at the other girl's incredible acting skills.

"Yes. We met at Rose Tendum's going away party."

"Oh, yes!" Dad had only heard good things about the Tendum's. "Well, I don't see any problem with Susan going with you. What will you be doing?"

"Oh, you know." Kohl-eyes giggled. "Girly things. Watching movies. Eating popcorn. I'll have her back by midnight, promise."

"All right then." Dad was sold. "Susan, why don't you ask Lucy if she wants to come along? I'm sure she'd love to spend some time with some older girls."

Kohl-eyes scowled, just a little bit. Susan quickly shook her head. "Lucy's having such a blast upstairs, Dad. I'd hate to disturb her."

"That's fine," Dad turned around, heading back to the couch, "Do come inside and wait, Caroline. Susan will be few minutes."

"Oh, that's alright." Kohl-eyes stepped back and smirked, charm beginning to fade, now that he couldn't see her. "I rather like the cold."

"I'll be out shortly," Susan whispered, growing excited and anxious all at once. Indeed, she was too distracted to see Peter glance over at her, then out the door at Kohl-eyes, who offered him a saucy wink. His jaw clenched disapprovingly. Susan shut the door and scurried off to her bedroom.

* * *

"Surely you don't live all the way out here," Susan exclaimed after nearly half an hour of trudging through snowdrifts, though the words came out more as a mumble from behind her scarf. Kohl-eyes gripped her gloved hand harder and dragged, grimacing fiercely against the night air.

"You really are a sheltered one, aren't you?" They slipped into an alleyway, stomping boldly past the human-sized bundles of cloth that huddled together, on top of each other, like rats. "Of course I don't live 'out here'."

"Then where are we going?" Susan shuddered, boots nearly crunching a human hand, the skeletal fingertips blue from cold (or death, but Susan didn't want to think about that). She considered (briefly and passionately) stopping, offering her own gloves in apology, but Kohl-eyes was in a rush. They nearly stumbled out of the alley, into the dimly lit streets of urban London. (Susan was certain they weren't in Finchley anymore.)

The dark shadows and closed spaces made Susan nervous, her skin crawling, her mind imagining that eyes were watching with criminal intent. When they turned a corner and spotted a small group of young people, smoking and drinking around a trashcan fire, Susan could have cried with relief.

"There you are," a tall, ruggedly handsome boy shouted drunkenly, jumping off a low wall and weaving towards them with two open bottles of beer. "I thought you'd gotten mugged, baby."

Kohl-eyes (Caroline, Susan reminded herself) accepted hers and took a deep swallow, grinning. When she leaned in towards the boy for a sloppy kiss, Susan averted her eyes.

"Well, she lived further away than I thought. Everybody…everybody!"

The rabble paused in its weaving movements, blinking at Caroline sluggishly. She wrapped an arm about Susan's waist, drew her close. "Everybody, this is Susan. She's never gotten drunk before, so offer her lots of beer!"

There was an eruption of cheers, then dismissive noise. Susan smiled awkwardly and stomped her feet, heart pounding in her chest. She was growing increasingly apprehensive, and didn't take the beer when it was offered to her. "No, but thank you."

"This is Kenny," Caroline whispered, nibbling on the boy's ear. Susan surmised that they were a couple, from the way he touched her in return. "Any of these boys give you any trouble, you call for him, alright? He'll rough 'em up, won't you, Kenny?"

"Right," he rumbled in a manly fashion, trying to smile at Susan, but becoming distracted by Caroline's hands wandering inside his open coat, her mouth whispering against his neck. "Yeah…"

Susan found a box to sit on, facing away from them, and hugged herself tightly.

It was nearly half an hour later that Susan reluctantly wandered over to the fire and accepted a (unopened) beer, sipping on it only to get warm again. The words floating around her (curses and innuendoes) were not familiar, and she did not try to participate in any conversation. However, the liquor seeped slowly into her veins like pain medication, numbing her extremities (or was that the cold), loosening her limbs and emotions until she was giggling at nothing, feeling rather silly but unable to stop herself.

Fifteen minutes passed. An older ensemble approached in a chattering haze, less drunken and more alert than their counterparts, holding not half-empty beers, but nearly-full bottles of vodka. The younger group grumbled under their breaths, but gave way to the wiser countenances and larger fists. The vodka-carriers lobbied for space around the fire, bumping Susan aside and removing the beer from between her fingertips.

"Hey," she protested weakly, eliciting a chorus of amused chuckles.

"We're doing you a favor, kid," one of the men said sympathetically, taking in her dizzy appearance. "Any more, and the sweepers will be scooping up your dead body come morning. Wouldn't that be a lovely Christmas present?"

She didn't understand what he meant, and blinked up at him blearily.

"Look at her, poor girl," he went on, wiping a smudge of soot from her cheekbone with his bare thumb, "What's a sweetheart like you doing with this lot, eh? You don't seem the type."

She shied away from the strange gleam in his eyes, classifying him as being considerably more dangerous than Caroline's friends. "Leave me alone."

"Don't worry, dear," he shrugged, "I don't rob cradles." Still, he continued to touch her cheek, icy fingers caressing.

"You heard her, Joe," a familiar voice rumbled from behind Susan, "She doesn't want to be touched…Susan?"

Robert Sandhowler turned Susan around gently, red curls bobbing above his incredulous blue eyes. "Susan Pevensie…" He whistled in disbelief. "What in blazes are you about?"

"I…" She tried to think about it. "I don't know."

"I believe you." He shook his head and pulled her into his side, smelling faintly of smoke. She buried her face in his chest, shivering.

"You know this snippet, Bobby?" Joe eyed them skeptically, wetting his lips with the vodka.

"Yeah, I know her. She's my girl." Robert kissed the top of Susan's hair, then her cheek, and she was feeling too weak to tell him off.

"This is your Susan? She can't be any older than fifteen!"

"I'm eighteen," Susan blurted, offended. This drew forth another round of mocking laughter.

"Well," Joe sighed, stepping away from the trashcan and corking the bottle, "You'd best bring her along then. This lot is bound to get caught by the law, sooner or later."

"Yeah," Robert grunted, and gently steered Susan along. "Come on then. It's bloody cold out here."

Logically, she should have felt safe, sheltered by such a large and familiar presence. However, Susan's blood began to surge frantically as they moved away, into the darkness. She wearily looked about for Caroline, but couldn't spot her.

"Well now," Joe laughed, when Susan finally planted her feet with a little cry of protest, shoving Robert away. "Seems you've got the wrong Susan."

"Come along, Su," Robert growled, and there was something behind his voice that made Susan shiver in growing distress. She felt ready to cry, and shook her head.

"I'm not leaving without Caroline."

"Caroline Teverly?" Robert bent down to look Susan in the eye, his own sparkling with a light she'd never seen before. Her instincts were screaming at her to run, but her body refused to move. "That girl is nothing but trouble, love. Come with us…I'll see you home." He rubbed her jaw, fingertips trembling faintly.

"But…"

"No buts." He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. "I'll not leave you."

Susan considered screaming, but let him pull her along.

They were starting to pass through familiar streets when Robert parted ways with his friends, his body tense against Susan's side. "I'll take her home then."

"Alright." Joe winked at Susan for no reason at all. "Come over to my place, when you're finished."

Then it was just the two of them. Susan's head was starting to clear, and when he drew her into a dark corner, she had enough presence of mind to push against his chest in fearful anger. "What are you doing?"

"Hush," he commanded, and kissed her ardently.

Susan's world narrowed, blocking out the streets, the snow, the cold brick against her back. All she could feel were his stale-tasting lips against her own, his hands working open the buttons on her coat, reaching in to run over her breasts. She cried out against his mouth and shoved him as hard as she could, but he was a big man, and she was hyperventilating. She couldn't budge him.

He grabbed at her heavy skirts, began to draw them up, moaning roughly. Then he was gone, pulled away sharply with a startled cry, and Susan was pushing against the air, tears running down her face. Blearily, she registered a flurry of fists, then blood flying. Peter threw Robert against the alley wall, smashed his fists into the startled man's face again and again.

"How dare you! How dare you!" He screamed it over and over, punched over and over, until Robert finally shoved him off with a blood-dampened roar, chest heaving in rage, fist clenched. He advanced. There was something bright in Peter's eyes though, a wild confidence that stopped Robert in his tracks, caused him to hesitate.

"Come on, then," Peter cried, hitting his own chest, "Indulge me!"

Robert stumbled off into the night, clutching his bleeding face. Susan let out a sob and sat down hard, shaking spastically. Peter turned his back to her, to hide his own anger-triggered tears.

The wind howled sadly.

"What were you thinking, Susan?" Peter finally hissed, the quiet tone decidedly more frightening than the yelling. "Letting him touch you like that? Have you lost all common sense?"

"What," Susan gurgled, pushing herself up off the ground, "I didn't…"

"Did he come for you at that girl's house? Why did you go with him, Su?"

"I…"

He was enraged, still wound up, and couldn't see her distress. "What's wrong with you?"

"Shut up!" She shrieked, pushing him backwards. "It wasn't my fault!"

"I knew he was trouble," he continued dangerously, kicking a can violently across the street, "But you just had to be contradictory, didn't you? Why can't you grow up, Susan?"

"Stop it," she sobbed, supporting herself on the wall, hurting all over, inside and out. "Please. Just stop."

"I'm telling Mum and Dad." He hadn't even heard her. "Right now."

"We're nowhere near home," Susan whispered.

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" He pulled her up and out of the alley, marching down the streets. After a few steps, Susan had to stop, emptying the contents of her stomach on the icy cobblestones, bile freezing on her lips. The world grew increasingly bleary, until all Susan could register was the approaching darkness, and this time, it was within herself.

* * *

"Susan?" Lucy breathed, climbing into her sister's bed at the first sign of life. The lights had long ago been put out, the guests sent home, the family seething beneath their bedcovers. Susan opened her eyes and stared up at the blackness, said nothing, tried not to remember anything.

"Su," Lucy tried again, cuddled up against her under the blankets, bare toes warm against Susan's icy skin. "Are you alright? We've been so worried."

"I'm fine." Susan turned onto her side, facing away from Lucy.

"You're in a lot of trouble." Lucy stroked her hair sympathetically, little fingers working out the knots. "Dad is furious. Mum locked herself in their bedroom after everybody left…she wouldn't even take tea."

"Hmm."

"Peter and Edmund are still awake, they've been whispering for hours, but they won't tell me what's happened." Lucy sighed anxiously, curled herself around Susan's back. "Please tell me."

"I don't want to talk about it, Lucy," Susan mumbled, clutching at her pillow. The memories were all flooding back now, bringing with them an urge to weep bitterly. Susan tried very hard not too, because she didn't want to frighten Lucy.

"Please?" Lucy didn't understand the gravity of what had occurred (seeing that she knew nothing), and shook Susan's arm. "Are you ill? Peter was carrying you."

"Yes, Lu," Susan sighed and turned towards her little sister, tears dripping down onto the mattress, "I'm very ill."

"Oh, Susan." Lucy pulled her close, kissed the top of her hair. "Poor, poor Susan. And on Christmas Eve, too."

Susan clung to Lucy's nightgown, let herself be coddled for the first time in years.

Downstairs, the clock struck midnight.


	9. Chapter 9

Dad threw open the bedroom door at seven 'o clock, his anger not diminished overnight. He threw Susan's robe over the foot of the bed. "Get up, Susan. We need to have a little talk." They left Lucy snoring, face peacefully blank.

Susan barely registered Mum and the boys sitting in the kitchen (chairs just a little to close to the study to be normal), faces closed and cast downwards, before she was ushered into the study. Dad closed the door firmly and pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down."

She sat. He perched on the edge of his recliner, just looking at her. Susan didn't know what Peter had told him, and bided her time. To her surprise, he did not explode in a furious tirade, didn't smash his fist down onto his desk, as he tended to do when stirred to great anger. Instead, he sighed and ran a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, Susan, and by Jove, you'd best be honest with me. Understood?"

She nodded, stifled an urge to throw up. "Yes, sir."

"Who is Caroline Teverly, really?"

"I told you," Susan said carefully, eyes on the floor, "I met her at Rose Tendum's party. That's the truth of it."

"Alright." He pulled a cigar out of his vest and lit it, puffing agitatedly. "Why weren't you at her house, when Peter found you?"

"We didn't go to her house," Susan whispered, voice breaking, "I didn't know. She took me to a…I don't know what to call it."

"A party?"

"I suppose so. We were outside."

"Was there drinking, and smoking at this party?"

"Yes, Dad," Susan sighed. He grunted, let out a thin stream of smoke. Something rustled on the other side of the door. "I wouldn't have stayed, if I'd known the way home."

"Why didn't you turn back when you left Finchley?"

"I suppose…" Susan paused, wiping away a tear. "I suppose I trusted her."

Dads looked closely at her grief-stricken face, countenance softening. "Well, I can't blame you for that, she was rather charming. I intend to have a word with her parents."

"I'm so sorry, Dad." Susan began to cry silently, unable to stop herself. "I didn't mean to distress all of you."

He coughed, offered his handkerchief. "Never mind that now. How did you fall in with Robert Sandhowler?"

"He stopped by, with some of his friends. When they left, I went with them. He said, 'I'll take you home, Susan.'"

"But he had no intentions of doing so."

"I don't know, Peter came across us before he could…"

"Susan," Dad stood and knelt before her, and only then did she realize that his anger was not directed at her. "Darling, did he hurt you?"

"He tried." Susan averted her eyes. "Peter stopped him."

"That bastard."

"What did I do? I must have done something, I keep thinking, to have led him on."

Dad drew her down into his arms, let her sob into his Christmas vest. "You didn't do anything wrong Susan, save being ignorant and young. Sometimes I forget that you're still a girl."

Susan forgot sometimes too.

When Susan emerged from the study, dry-eyed and emotion-drained, Mum was waiting with a cup of hot chocolate and a generous hug. "My dear child. Come sit on the couch."

"Where did Ed and Peter go?" Susan stepped around the pile of Christmas presents and lay down on the cushions.

Mum smiled sadly, tucked a blanket about Susan's reclining form. "They heard their fill and went upstairs to rouse Lucy. You know how they are."

Susan did know, and sighed. Peter would be avoiding her then, and with him Edmund.

"We're leaving for church in an hour," Mum went on, pretending to tidy up so she could linger in the room, "It's Christmas tradition, but I'll understand if you want to stay home."

Mum was obsessed with tradition.

"Thank you," Susan whispered gratefully, comprehending fully the sacrifice that Mum was making on her behalf. Mum made a weak shushing noise and rearranged the poinsettias, her smile sad but firm.

"No, really, Mum. I couldn't think of a better Christmas present right now."

"You're welcome," Mum caved, leaning in to give Susan a quick peck. "Now, I'm off to get dressed. Do you need anything?"

"No." Susan yawned and curled up more tightly beneath the blanket, exhausted, more than ready for the beautiful silence that only comes with an empty house.

Of course, once the family had packed up into the automobile and driven away, the fear that had been kept at bay by constant supervision (first Peter, then Lucy, then Mum and Dad) came back to Susan in a rush, stealing her breath, making every rustle sinister, every shadow deeper. She distracted herself by retrieving the portable radio from the bomb shelter, placing it on a chair just outside the bathroom door, turning the volume up as far as it would go while the tub filled with hot water.

Frank Sinatra's smooth voice slowed her heartbeat to a tolerable pace, and for a long time she lingered in the bath, scrubbing until her skin turned bright red, rinsing the smoke out of her hair again and again (she poured fresh water three times, until her skin puckered and softened). She was brushing her teeth at the sink when she heard the footsteps, coming up the stairs. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Susan flicked off the light with a trembling hand, pressed her ear to the door and held her breath, heart pounding. How did he get inside? Was he angry? She shook all over.

The footsteps paused on the landing, turned towards the bathroom, approaching until Susan could hear the uneven breathing. The doorknob turned.

Susan didn't think, she just grabbed her hairbrush and threw open the door, dove at him with a loud cry, stabbing blindly with the bristles.

"Susan! For goodness sake!" They stumbled across the hallway and into the opposite door. It gave way beneath the combined weight, tumbling them to the floor in a heap of kicking legs and flapping arms. "Get off me!"

Reason came back to Susan in a flash: she knew that voice. "Ed?"

"Yes! It's Ed! Get off!" He pushed wildly at her, cheeks flushed scarlet at being straddled by a girl in her chemise and drawers (though granted, that girl was his sister). Susan scrambled off him, the brush falling from her nerveless fingers, landing soundlessly on the carpet. They stared at each other.

"Why aren't you at church?" Susan recovered quickly and stepped over his shell-shocked form to grab Peter's robe off the nearest bed. She wrapped it tightly about herself.

"Mum sent me home," Ed retorted sharply, rubbing the back of his head where it had connected solidly with the floor, "To check on you. I walked all the way here, and you tackle me for my effort! Oh, owww. My head." He examined his fingers closely, searching for any traces of blood. In spite of the lingering fear and growing embarrassment, Susan couldn't help but smile.

"Sorry, Ed. I thought you were someone else."

He looked at her sharply, but didn't press, continuing to moan childishly.

"Oh, come off it." Susan knelt next to him to retrieve the hairbrush, took the time to wallop his shoulder solidly with it. He groaned loudly.

"You're so abusive, Susan!"

"Well 'you' scared me." She poked him with the prickly bristles. "So there."

"I scared you," he mocked, but there was a smile growing on his lips. Sinatra warbled a high note.

Susan wandered into the hall to turn the radio down, beginning to shiver beneath the light robe. "What were you doing anyway, opening the door on me like that?"

Ed pushed himself up, bracing on the doorjamb. "How was I supposed to know you were in there? The light was out."

"Oh." Susan stepped aside as he rushed into the bathroom, as if being reminded of his bladder made it more full. She didn't want to hear him use the toilet, but couldn't bear the thought of silence, if only for a moment. So she sank to the ground, staring pointedly at the staircase, appreciating the rustling and tinkling, only to remind herself that she wasn't alone.


	10. Chapter 10

"Do you remember," Ed inquired casually, slouching down and stretching out his long legs under the table, "When we used to get up before dawn on Christmas morning, to see if we could surprise St. Nicholas and his helpers? Peter would carry Lucy, so she wouldn't stumble and scare away the elves."

Susan chuckled, sipping at her tea. "Of course I do. It was complete nonsense, all the sneaking about and scolding each other."

"Hmm. It was a lot of fun, though."

"Yes." Sip. Susan glanced over her shoulder at the oven, nose wrinkling. "I wonder if those cookies are finished?"

"I doubt it," Edmund grunted noncommittally, but he pushed away from the table to check, opening the door, turning his cheek away from the wave of heat. Abruptly he began to laugh, throwing his head back.

"What?" She stood to see for herself. "Did we burn them?"

"No, actually." Ed stepped aside so that Susan could take a look. "They look rather fine to me."

"Then why did you…"

_"Honestly, Edmund. Is this truly imperative, or are you just being restless?"__"Don't tell me," Ed grunted, pacing before the fireplace, "That you haven't missed our food. Calormen cuisine is perfectly delicious, but personally, I'm tired of it." He stopped, peered in the little pot hanging over the fire._

_Susan flopped across her bed with an irritated groan, though she was smiling. "You're 'always' tired, Ed. I've never met another soul as easily bored as you."_

_"That's because you've never met my intellectual equal," Ed boasted, sitting down and crossing his hands over his firm abdomen. "But come to think of it, Rabadash is rather fickle."_

_"Ugh." Susan rolled over onto her stomach, legs swinging. "Let's not talk about him. I do wonder," here she winked, "If the soup is finished?"_

_"I doubt it," he grunted, but pushed to his feet to check, silken robe rustling across the floor._

"Don't you recall?" Ed stared into Susan's eyes, hopeful.

"No," Susan replied shortly, thrust her hands into matching oven mitts. What good will she'd found within herself evaporated instantly. Ed sighed and ran a hand through his hair, displeasure knitting his brow. "I'll get the frosting."

"Fine."

The front door swung open forcefully, slamming into the wall with a 'bang' that shook the entire house. Susan shrieked, nearly dropped the hot pan on her bare feet. Ed grabbed a rolling pin, stepped in front of Susan and extended it like a sword, acting on instinct.

"Just because you thought it was necessary doesn't mean it truly was, Hubert," Mum yelled, voice cracking. (Mum never yelled.) Susan and Ed exchanged a nervous glance.

Dad hissed back something they couldn't understand, but it was quite clear that he was furious.

"Perhaps we'd better…" Ed gestured towards the doorway, and the sudden tension beyond. Susan reluctantly set the pan on the stovetop and led the way out of the kitchen.

"That man," Dad was growling, stripping off his coat and nearly throwing it into Mum's outstretched arms, "Deserved more of thrashing than we gave him, and you know it, Helen. Now, I don't want to hear any more about it."

Mum thrust her index finger boldly underneath his nose, shaking her head. "You 'will' hear more about it. I've held my peace long enough!"

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Dad said very quietly, the veins in his neck standing out clearly. Behind him, still standing in the open doorway, Peter stiffened, his arm tightening about Lucy's waist.

"Dad," Ed ventured nervously, taking a cautious step forward. Dad held up his hand, face growing redder by the second. "Stay out of this, Edmund. This is between your Mum and I."

"'This' involves all of us," Mum went on, determined, passing the coats to Susan. "Come inside, Peter, Lucy. Close the door behind you."

Peter hesitated, and Lucy with him.

"Obey your mother, Peter," Dad turned about rigidly, his burning eyes lighting upon his eldest child. Peter swallowed his pride and obeyed, wordlessly gripping Lucy's hand and leading her into the house.

"Good. Now," Dad led the way into the drawing room, stumbling over a present that had slipped from the pile, next to the couch. He kicked it viciously with a bellow of rage, eliciting a reflex cry from Lucy (it was one of hers, pink ribbon bouncing cheerfully).

"Stop it, Hubert. You're frightening the children." Mum knelt and righted the gift, hands trembling.

"That's your point," Dad scoffed, pacing in the center of the room. "Isn't that what you're getting at? That I've become a monster?"

"Well, look at you," Mum cried softly, eyes wide and apprehensive, "Fist clenched, roaring like a bear. Even when you're happy, it's as if a ticking bomb has lodged itself inside of you. We never know when you're going to explode."

"I 'am' exploding!" Dad grasped his hair and pulled. "Can't you see?"

"We see," Mum responded quietly, stepping forward with hand outstretched. "We want to help you adjust, if you'll let us."

"Don't touch me, Helen," he wheezed, hand over his face. Lucy began to cry quietly in the hallway, tender heart unable to bear another moment in silence.

"Take her upstairs, Ed," Peter breathed, giving his younger brother a little push.

"Pete…"

"Just do it. Please."

Ed reluctantly led Lucy up the stairs.

Susan gingerly lowered herself onto the couch, watching the proceedings with a strangely impersonal eye. "What happened?"

Shaken and stark white beneath her rouge, Mum leaned against the windowsill. "Your father took it upon himself to give Robert Sandhowler a thorough beating, in the middle of service."

"He deserved it," Dad countered stubbornly, rubbing his forehead and staring at the floor. The rage had fled him, leaving in its place a vulnerability that made his shoulders hunch, as if to stand straight would be too revealing.

"Perhaps he did," Mum sighed wearily, "But what example does that set? All it will teach him is that force is a legitimate answer to a problem. What's more, it's Christmas, the time when we celebrate peace."

"Peace...well." Dad lifted his head and looked around sadly. "Where are Edmund and Lucy?"

"I sent them upstairs," Peter admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

"Go get them…I want to apologize."

"We're here, Dad." The pair tiptoed down the stairs, Lucy wiping away her tears.

"I'm sorry, children," Dad whispered, slumping down onto the couch beside Susan, "I know that things haven't been as they should be, and…and this was just the last straw. I've led regiments unharmed through bullet-riddled battlefields, but I can't protect my own daughter." He grimaced. "What a sick twist of fate."

"Dad. I'm alright, really." Susan tentatively squeezed his hand.

"Of course you are," he chuckled wryly, although he didn't squeeze back, "You're strong, like your Mum."

Mum stared out the window and didn't reply.

"Can you all forgive me?"

"Of course," they said, not quite as one.

* * *

The rest of Christmas '46 passed uneventfully, comprised of forced laughter and almost warm conversation, Mum sulking all through supper, Dad glancing at her from beneath his eyelashes (Susan had a hunch that there was more to this problem than what had already come to light). The gift opening was rushed, the clean up afterwards silent and unhappy. Instead of gathering around the radio (as was family tradition), they all went their separate ways. Dad retreated to his study for a cigar; Mum holed herself up in their bedroom. The four children (who really weren't children anymore) gathered together in the boys' room, half-heartedly examining their presents.

"What exactly does it do," Lucy inquired dubiously, planting her slender body beneath Peter's underarm, staring up at the white, chandelier-like contraption he was inspecting. He shrugged, straightened a lever. "I think it's a hanger, Lu." He turned it upside down, shaking it.

"It 'is' a hanger," Susan interjected quietly from the nearest bed, lifting her eyes briefly from _Anna Karenina_. Peter raised his eyebrows and frowned, looking in her direction but not at her directly, avoiding her eyes. This made Susan angry.

"Honestly," she growled, bolting off the bed and striding across the room, snatching the hanger from Peter's fingertips. "It's a rack. You hang your clothing from it, just so," she opened the closet and withdrew a pair of trousers, pinched them with one of the many hooks, "To dry."

"Isn't it rather unnecessary," Lucy pressed inquisitively, giving it a little poke, watching the trousers swing. "Don't they have clothes lines at your school, Peter?"

"Well, yes, but everyone uses them, teachers, students. They can get a bit crowded."

"It'll be helpful, then." Ed leaned further over the desk, assembling his new puzzle. "When the weather gets warmer, the whole university won't be staring at your drawers."

Poke. Lucy swung the set again, nodding in agreement. "Who is it from, anyway?"

"Me," Susan grunted, returning to the bed and throwing herself across it.

"Thank you," Peter mumbled at her back (she could hear the disquiet in his voice, and cringed inwardly).

"You're welcome."


	11. Chapter 11

"Mind if I join you?" The voice came out of nowhere, pulling a startled cry out of Susan's formerly pursed mouth, lifting her heart from beneath her ribs to throb painfully behind her teeth. She had gotten so used to being without siblings during the fall, had forgotten what it was like to have to a full house. What it was like to have to share spaces.

Scooting over and uncurling her legs, Susan made room for Peter on the porch swing. He swept off the lingering snow and cautiously lowered himself down beside her, smelling faintly of soap and candle-wax (these were scents that Susan was not unaccustomed to, but never before had they been so intrusive). He crossed his ankles; she crossed her arms. They stared out into the darkness in silence, not daring to look at each other.

This form of non-communication quickly grew stale. Peter sighed and surged, feet planting on the icy porch and moving back and forth, rocking the swing.

"Stop." Susan blew on her gloves, glanced at him from under a cloud of loose hair.

He stopped; brought his right wrist up close to his face, peered at the watch latched around it. "It's past midnight."

"Really?" Susan made no effort to sound congenial (she'd had more than enough of that game).

"Yes," Peter bit back, his normally soothing voice harsh beneath the howling wind, "Really."

"What's it to you?"

"Well," he changed tactics, draping a long arm along the back of the swing, "It's not Christmas anymore."

"Thank goodness." Susan shied away from his warmth and leaned forward into the bitter cold, closing her eyes against the tear-inducing sting. "I've had more than enough good cheer for one holiday."

The tension that had sprung between them in late summer had ebbed in separation, grown to seem silly and childish. But now that they were in close proximity again, the sorrow-fueled fury that had burned slowly within Susan's subconscious now came bursting forth into the foremost part of her mind, spreading down through her veins until she could feel it in every inch of her being. Before the incident on Christmas Eve, she had been certain that the whole awkward affair was mostly her own fault. Now she gladly shifted blame to Peter, willingly passed him the burden of guilt.

He didn't take to error gracefully, and Susan could see beyond the casual body language and openly irritated manner. Peter was cracking (and she was too angry to feel sympathy for him).

"Oh dear," he continued calmly, giving Susan's shoulder a little shove with the extended hand. "Susan Pevensie has grown bitter, after all."

"Shut up," she growled, angered by his carelessness.

The hand withdrew, retreated into his coat pocket, reemerged with a tightly wound cigarette. Susan briefly abandoned stealth in favor of open incredulity as he lit the stick, took a long draw off it.

"You smoke?" Her voice squeaked more than she cared to hear.

Peter blew out the smoke; it mingled with the white air that also escaped his lungs, floating away and dissipating into nothingness. "Only a little," he grunted after it was all out, coolly returning Susan's accusing glare. "Mostly with the boys at university."

"Does Dad know?"

Peter hummed an affirmative, inhaled again. The stick looked out of place between his fingertips, working against the unconsciously 'clean' aura he exuded. Susan wanted to snuff it out with her bare hands. Instead she silently asked for it, fingers outstretched. He raised his eyebrows, but passed the cigarette without a word.

The acrid smoke burned down Susan's throat.

"Does Dad know," Peter half-questioned, half-mocked, and didn't seem surprised when Susan shook her head.

"No, and he's not going to." She passed it back.

Inhale, exhale. Peter was concerned now, and wouldn't give when it was her turn. She made a half-hearted grab for it, but he extended it high above their heads, ash drifting down to settle on Susan's hair.

Susan swore at him, which startled Peter so much that he lowered his hand. Susan tore the stick away, shoved it between her teeth and drew in an angry breath. So strange was her behavior that Peter quite forgot to protest, staring down at her nervously, as if she were a stranger and not his sister.

"You have no rights over my choices," Susan ground out, standing and stalking to the porch railing. "I'm a grown woman, and capable of making logical decisions."

"Then what happened Christmas Eve," he inquired quietly from the swing, stunned into respect. "You can't tell me that you were behaving logically then."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Robert Sandhowler. I mean you smelling like beer, vomiting on the sidewalk."

She spun on him, pointed a finger accusingly. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"No," he surprised her, lowering his head, "You don't. But I do wish you would."

"Well," she whispered after a moment's silence, "Wish away, Peter, because I'm far too angry with you to give out information."

She dropped the stick, ground it into the snow with her boot, and was halfway to the front door when his hand landed on her shoulder, at once restraining and tentative. "Su…"

"What do you want from me, Peter," Susan whispered thickly, staring at the doorknob, just a few slippery steps away. "Forgiveness without apology?"

"I've been wanting to apologize." His hand curled, gripped her compulsively. "But I just...couldn't."

"It wasn't my fault."

"I know that now. I'm sorry, Su."

It wasn't good enough. "I needed you to hold me, not yell at me."

"I could hold you now," he barely breathed, entire being tensing in anticipation of rejection (he knew her far too well). She could hear the words he didn't say, hanging in the air between them: Can't things be the way they were? Why are we being so stupid? What's changed? Can't we try to fix it?

No.

No.

"No." She shrugged off his hand, opened the door to a blast of heat. "Thank you, though."

His breath hitched, held. She held open the door for him. "Coming?"

"No. I'll stay out a bit longer." Peter shuffled back to the bench, bent (Susan fancied briefly that his shoulders were shaking, passed it off as shivering.)

She shut the door.

* * *

"Pass the butter, please?" Lucy's voice was far too cheerful. It made Susan's head ache, but she extended the little platter. Ed (the only male at the table) studiously nibbled on his boiled egg, glancing ever so often at the back door.

Mum and Dad were still seething, and had sequestered themselves at polar opposite sides of the property (her in the bedroom, sorting laundry, him in the back yard, cleaning out the shelter). It was only nine 'o clock, but from the progress Dad had already made outside (and the dishes in the sink), the two of them had been awake and avoiding each other for hours.

Susan had awoken to the smell of freshly cooked bacon (courtesy of Ed and Lucy, the only relatively happy and focused people in the house), shuffled downstairs, peered around the kitchen door, entered and brewed some coffee after ascertaining that Peter was not within. "Went for a walk," was all that Ed would say for Peter's absence, shrugging and avoiding Susan's eyes as he set the table.

Now the door flew open in a blast of frigid air, followed by Peter, stamping the snow off his boots. He hung up his coat and came to the table, planting an icy kiss on Lucy's cheek, ruffling Edmund's hair, easing himself around Susan's chair silently.

"There's bacon in the pan," Lucy chirped, oblivious (as always) to the tension that had suddenly entered the room. "And eggs, if you want them."

"Thanks, Lu." Peter opened the cabinets in search of a plate.

"I was thinking," Ed announced awkwardly, scooting over to make room for Peter at the table. "That we ought to go ice skating at McGregor's Pond. It'll be warm enough around noon, I'd say."

"That's a good idea," Peter agreed instantly, biting into a piece of bacon.

"Oh yes!" Lucy's face split into a wide smile. "How lovely!"

"It's agreed then," Peter grunted in satisfaction, "We'll leave at noon, make a day of it."

No one missed the exclusion of Susan, who took a convulsive gulp of coffee, stared at her plate.

"What about Susan," Lucy ventured quietly, finally clueing in on the unpleasant undertones.

"Of course," Peter said to his plate, very politely, "You're more than welcome to join us, Su. I just thought that ice skating wouldn't be your cup of tea." He bit hard into his egg.

"I'll stay here," Susan whispered, sensing how it would be. Either she would go, or Peter, not both.

"Are you certain," Lucy pressed, stroking Susan's sleeve. Ed looked from Susan, to Peter, to Susan, and pursed his lips in growing unease.

"Yes." Susan forced a smile for Lucy, although a piece of her heart was disintegrating. "I want to finish that book, you know. _Anna Karenina. _I simply can't put it down."

"Oh." Disappointed, Lucy turned back to her eggs.

Susan stared down at her plate, but couldn't bring herself to eat. She had a feeling that everything would taste like death.


	12. Chapter 12

In many ways, Peter and Susan had never really gotten along with each other.

As toddlers (before Mum had become pregnant with Edmund), they were always placed together, in the nursery, the cradle, the bathroom for diaper changing. Such proximity was rather trying at best, and more often than not Peter was trying to pull Susan's downy hair out, or she was biting his face. By the time Ed came along, his elder siblings were the best of enemies. However, his birth and perpetually demanding presence gave them something to concentrate on besides each other, and (overnight, it seemed) they learned to work as a unit, little Mummy and Daddy caring for baby Edmund. The adults laughed at this strange triangle, but didn't attempt to put an end to it, enjoying the peace while it lasted. 'They'll outgrow it,' the neighbors said, chuckling knowingly behind their handkerchiefs. Still, they had argued over Ed, child-voices raised in frustration. 'No, h-he doesn't want the rattle'; 'Yes, he does'; 'No, he doesn't!'

Then came Lucy, the little bundle of light who brought a smile to every face that saw her. When Mum drew them over to the new cradle, they peered over the edge as one, felt their hearts clench as one. Then Lucy wailed, reached her baby fingers towards her big brother. (Susan wouldn't let him play with her toys at bath time, after that)

Nothing had changed. Edmund was still demanding; a darkly charismatic presence that refused to be denied attention, simply by not openly seeking it. However, when he wanted something now, he went to Peter. As for Lucy, well, she had always been Peter's girl.

Susan had resigned herself, had learned early (long before all the nonsense about Narnia) that her younger siblings preferred Peter to her, at any moment, in any situation (save, perhaps, when Lucy first got her monthly). Need to be tucked into bed? Peter. Got a scrape? Peter. Want to talk? Peter, mostly. Even the year directly after their stay at the Professor's, during which Peter had been a most obnoxious and irrepressible prat, Edmund and Lucy had looked up to him, trusted him. They gave him respect, even when he didn't deserve it (the same could not be said of their relationship with Susan. Not anymore.)

That was why, after much thought on the matter, Susan had come to understand why they both sided with Peter in this silent war.

"Do you fancy a game of chess, Ed," she ventured quietly a week after Christmas, not really expecting him to say yes. She didn't even put down the book she was reading.

"Um," he edged, passing through the drawing room on swift feet. "No thanks." He entered the kitchen.

"Why not," Susan called after him rather testily, the bitterness surging within her. "Do you have any other plans?"

"Not really." He reappeared with a glass of milk. "But I was going to ask Peter if he wanted to…"

Susan shut out his voice. She didn't ask again.

It was sick irony that sent Edmund and Lucy back to school first, before Peter, leaving Susan with no opportunity to spend time with them. At this point, two days after New Years, Susan was thoroughly and completely depressed. She was soothed marginally, though, knowing that Peter was equally unhappy.

"Well, my dear," Mum chirped when Susan finally came to her, eyes full of tears, fists clenched, "You can't always expect to get along with Peter. You're both so hard-headed, it's inevitable that you're going to clash." She kissed Susan's cheek in passing. "And you always make up, and laugh at yourselves for being so silly."

"I know, Mum," Susan whispered, dusting along the stairwell in sharp, staccato movements, "But this time, there's nothing silly about it."

"Talk to him." Mum clucked her tongue, retrieved one of Dad's socks from behind the radio.

"But..."

"No buts. Your Father and I are growing weary of this unnecessary tension."

Susan was tempted to point out that Mum and Dad weren't exactly on speaking terms either, but held her silence.

* * *

"Peter?"

He could hear her outside the bedroom, although she was speaking ever so quietly, probably hoping that he wasn't listening. He wasn't, really, and snuggled down into the warm blankets more securely.

Brief silence. Then the door swung open with a creak. She cleared her throat, whispered his name again while approaching the bed.

"What," he groaned, in fear that she would sit down, touch him. She sat down anyway, in the curve between his waist and the edge of the bed, taut and uneasy.

"What do you want," he repeated, pushing down the covers to glare at her.

"I couldn't sleep." She plucked at the blankets, tugging on the loose threads. Peter huffed and sat up, planting both hands on either side of his body, posture unconsciously threatening.

"You woke me out of a dead slumber (that was a lie) because you have insomnia?" He stared her down incredulously, until she shuddered, wringing her hands.

"Yes. I mean, no. Will you stop staring, Peter! Scoot over." She pushed him lightly sideways.

"What?" He remembered to be a gentleman at the last moment, and didn't shove back.

"I said," she growled, a determined set to her jaw, "Scoot over."

"No." He turned his back to her and closed his eyes, ready to wait her out. Therefore, he was quite shocked when she pulled back the top layer of his man cave, sliding beneath the quilt and giving him a quick jab with her bony hip. "Move." Jab. Jab.

He squawked, instinctively scooting away from the pressure.

"Thank you." She drew the blanket up her chin, closed her eyes, a little smirk playing on the corners of her mouth.

"Is there a point to all this," Peter ground out after a moment of shock, now completely awake and completely furious. "Or are you just looking to irritate me?"

"Don't be silly," Susan grumbled, already half-asleep (insomnia indeed).

"Silly? You haven't slept in my bed since you were nine years old, Susan! And now," he flopped over, chin bouncing neatly off her shoulder blade. "You decide to pick up the habit again?"

Her face lost its mirth, one eye popping open to look down at him solemnly. "We 'are' being silly, Peter. Both of us. I want a truce."

He really didn't want to talk about this, not at (he glanced at the alarm clock) two in the morning, and groaned loudly, head lolling against the pillows. "Is it really so imperative?"

"Yes." Susan shivered, cold beneath only one blanket, "It is. I can't take another moment of this ridiculous battle."

"Well, I don't want to discuss it, Su. Ever. In fact, I'm really looking forward to going back to school, if only to get away from you."

He didn't need to say that, but couldn't help himself. Susan stiffened in the darkness, her leg against his quivering with contained emotion. Peter felt a surge of guilt spread through him (when had he become so cruel?).

"I'm sorry," he whispered, breath swaying the lace on her collar. "I shouldn't have said that."

Susan inhaled deeply, shook her head. "I deserved it."

"No, you didn't." Peter propped himself up on his elbow, staring blankly at the wall beyond. "I'm just being a prat."

"Yes, you are a prat."

"Well, so are you."

"Look," Susan said, crossing her arms, "We're both prats, alright? Fine. We could go over why, and for what reasons, apologize again and not forgive each other. But Peter," she turned towards him with a sigh, "I don't want to fight anymore."

She'd caught him off guard. Peter ran a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair, face sad in the moonlight. "Neither do I."

"Can't we make it pax, then?"

"It's not that simple, Su…" He trailed off, seeing the tears in her eyes. "But I'm willing to try."

The expression that came over her face was not quite happiness, or joy, but it was enough to make Peter blush. Embarrassed, he gave her a little shove. "Now get out of my bed."

She scurried away, smiling. Peter rolled over and punched his pillow half-heartedly, trying very hard to be irritated, but failing miserably. He couldn't believe that it had been that simple, after all.

"Blast!" A thought came to him, heart clenching and terrifying. "Now I'll have to take her ice skating."


	13. Chapter 13

"What?" Lucy shrieked into the hallway telephone, slipping on her Mary Jane's with one hand, gripping the receiver hard enough to break with the other. "You aren't serious."

The girl behind her tapped her foot impatiently, but Lucy was far too excited to actually notice. "Peter, couldn't you have done that just a little sooner? (pause) Because I wanted to be there, of course."

"Excuse me," the girl tapped Lucy's shoulder, trying to smile sweetly at six o' clock in the morning, "Could you possibly hurry it up? I've calls to make too."

"Oh." Lucy felt a surge of guilt and grimaced. "Peter, I should go. Yes. I'll tell Edmund. Goodbye."

Classes were to start in half an hour. Lucy grabbed her coat, skidded down the front stairway, tiptoed past the security guards into the silent street. She had no trouble getting into Ed's school, sneaking around the back and through the kitchens.

"Blast," Ed's half-naked roommate exclaimed when Lucy eased open their door and let herself into the cramped, cluttered space. "Don't you knock?" He scrambled away from the shared mirror to his bed, slipping beneath the covers with a huff of embarrassed frustration.

"Sorry, James." She maneuvered around the piles of clothing to Edmund's bed, pouncing on the long lump within it. "Ed! Edmund, wake up!"

"Ugh…Lucy!" Ed sat up and grabbed her wrists, sleep glazed eyes fighting to focus on her face. "What are you doing here?"

"Peter called," Lucy whispered, voice trembling with excitement. Ed rolled his eyes, flopped back against the pillows.

"Peter 'always' calls."

"I know," Lucy went on impatiently, bouncing the bed. "But he's made up with Susan. They're going ice-skating today!"

"And?" Ed crossed his arms, yawned.

"And," Lucy's face fell, "I thought you might like to know."

"Couldn't you have told me later, Lu?" She could see that he was growing excited, though he tried to mask it behind a shield of annoyance. The roommate huffed in agreement.

"No. This is 'Peter' we're talking about." Lucy vaulted off the bed. "He'll call you this afternoon, and want to know if I told you yet."

"Hmm. Well, thanks." Ed rolled over to hide his smile.

Lucy grinned at his turned back, impulsively leaned over and planted a resounding kiss on the sleep-rumpled head.

"Argh!"

"You're welcome. See you later." She scurried out the door before he could properly react.

* * *

_The corridors were void of life, the grey brick walls harsh but blank, and yet Susan could hear them speaking to her, telling secrets in a language she did not understand. This was entirely illogical, because everyone knew walls didn't talk. Trees did though (_where did that thought come from?). _It didn't matter. Susan just needed to find her family, and stumbled through the halls searching, unwilling to speak for fear that the walls would learn her language. She did not want to know what they were saying._

_There, a door! They had to be in the drawing room._

_"Peter! Edmund! Lucy!" A surge of relief poured down her cheeks._

_At last she had found them. But something was wrong. This wasn't home. The walls had too many tapestries, the floor was solid marble, the fireplace roared at Susan menacingly. Though they turned as one to smile at her, Susan could not smile back._

_"Susan," Lucy soothed, swishing across the room and taking both of Susan's hands in her own, pulling, "Come along. We must get you dressed."_

_Peter came out of the closet, armor clinking, and held up a blood red gown. "It's time for you to choose, Su. The dress, or…"_

_Edmund threw a suit of armor at her feet. "Your battle gear."_

_"I don't understand." Susan shivered and took a step back, feeling for the doorknob. When she could not find it, she turned around to look…and it was gone, replaced by shrieking flames, the tendrils like swords as they thrust at her. Crying out in fear, she ran to Peter with arms outstretched, but he solemnly stepped aside, still holding the dress. "Choose."_

_Choose. Choose. Choose. Suddenly overwhelmed by terror, Susan sank to the ground, grabbing her knees and rocking. "I can't, Peter…I can't!"_

_"Then we cannot help you." They walked away as one, proudly stepping into the fire. Susan watched in horror as they were slowly incinerated, smiling upon her soothingly with melting lips. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed _until she woke herself up.

"Aslan!"

Silence.

The melting world had suddenly become her bedroom, shadow-smoothed and coolly calm in the deepness of pre-dawn. Susan focused single-mindedly on the nearest wall, shuddering violently beneath the covers, trying to rid herself of the terrible images that lingered in her mind.

Fifteen minutes later they still would not leave, dancing teasingly through Susan's mind, clear yet elusive. It was with an shiver and sigh that Susan finally slid into her slippers and tiptoed downstairs, intending to turn the radio on (very quietly), and listen to it until her thoughts slowed.

The kitchen light wasn't on, but Susan could see shifting candlelight within (she shuddered, imagining the candle tipping over and setting the house aflame). Curious, she stopped in the doorway.

"Peter?"

He spun away from the counter with a gasp of surprise, clutching a glass of milk in one hand, the candle in another. "Susan…you frightened me."

"Sorry." She started to enter the room, hesitated. There was something in his manner (stooped shoulders, awkward smile, guarded eyes) that suggested a desire to be alone. "I'll be in the drawing room, alright?"

"No," he set down the candle and pulled out a chair for her at the table, "Stay. Please."

Susan didn't need anymore encouragement, craving more of the relief that came with seeing him whole and unhurt, milk moustache hanging off the stubble above his upper lip. She sat down.

Peter lowered himself into the chair across from her, sipping unhurriedly, watching her from beneath his eyelashes. "Are you alright, Su?"

"What makes you ask that?" She traced one of the wood rings on the tabletop with her fingertip.

"You're very pale."

Susan chuckled mirthlessly, rested her palm flat over the circle. "It's winter, Peter."

"No, not that sort of pale." He leaned forward, looking at her closely. "You look troubled."

"Perhaps I am," she whispered, eyes flashing at him in warning. "What's it to you?"

"Don't. We're going to try, remember?" He laid his hand over hers, squeezing tentatively. The sudden show of tenderness was nearly more than Susan could bear, having been without his warmth for so long. She sighed and propped her chin in her other palm.

"Sorry."

"That's alright." He withdrew his hand and studied her expectantly.

"I just had a dream, that's all. It frightened me a little."

"Only a little?"

"A lot," she admitted reluctantly, unused to being this frank with Peter anymore. "I couldn't get back to sleep."

He unconsciously assumed the 'big brother' posture, leaning forward on his forearms and smiling at her. "What was it about?"

"I'd rather not talk about it. Not right now."

"Alright," he said, after a moment, "Let's talk about something else then. What's a good time today?"

"For what?"

"For ice-skating, Susan." He grinned suddenly, sat back. "I want to take you. Or have you forgotten that you didn't come along the last time?"

She ignored the jab and shrugged. "I'll be finished with work by three o' clock. Anytime beyond that is fine."

"I'll pick you up then, and we'll go straight away."

"That's fine."

* * *

"Peter!" Susan grabbed his elbow with a shriek, effectively throwing off both their balances and tumbling them to the hard ice in a tangle of limbs, blades, and breathless laughter. Susan could not recall enjoying ice-skating this much, ever (of course, the last time she'd skated was before the war).

The crowd carefully maneuvered around them, used to the occasional fall. One pair of dark red skates stopped though, gracefully skidding to halt before them. "Susan Pevensie…"

Susan looked up, up, up…into the kohl-rimmed eyes of Caroline Teverly. "Oh. Hello."

"Hello." Caroline offered her a hand, as Peter was busy trying to sort out all of his limbs. Once standing, Susan brushed off her coat busily, unwilling to look frankly at Caroline (now that they were side by side, a bitter anger was rising up in her breast).

"What were you doing," Caroline pressed when Susan declined to initiate conversation, now extending help to Peter. "Trying to sprain your ankle?"

Peter's eyes flashed with recognition. "No, thank you." He pulled himself up stiffly.

"No what? No help? No injuries?" Caroline was not put off by his coldness, flirtatiously brushing ice shards off his abdomen with her fluffy gloves. He slid back out of reach, glaring at her.

"No to anything you have to offer."

She grinned appreciatively, white teeth flashing. Susan rolled her eyes, stepped in between them. "Was there something you wanted, Caroline?"

"Um, yes, actually." The smirk disappeared, replaced instantly by near seriousness. "I wanted to apologize to you, Susan."

Susan was shocked into silence, and mindlessly began to skate again. Caroline fell into step with her, sighing. Peter brought up the rear, a large, foreboding presence.

"I was wrong," Caroline whispered, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "I know that. I should never have let you out of my sight."

"You shouldn't have taken me out there in the first place." Susan made a sharp left.

"Perhaps." Caroline touched her elbow cautiously, genuine concern on her face. "That blasted Bobby Sandhowler didn't hurt you, did he?"

Susan shook her head tightly. "No, thank goodness. But he easily could have."

"What happened?"

Susan glanced sideways at Caroline, suspicious. "Why do you want to know?"

"I feel somewhat responsible? It's my fault, really."

Pause. "Peter followed us and walloped him."

"Did he?" Caroline glanced over her shoulder at Peter's stony face, grinning. "Now there's a man to keep around. You did say he was your 'brother', right?"

Peter sighed, steered the girls around a barrier with guiding hands. "I'm not interested, if that's what you're asking."

"What a shame." Caroline shrugged dismissively. "Well, that's all I wanted to say, Susan. I really do like you, you know. You're sweet." She abruptly kissed Susan's cheek and skated away.

"Caroline," Susan called after her, acting on an impulse. Caroline did a smooth figure eight, raising her eyebrows.

"Come over for supper tomorrow, five o' clock sharp. We'd love to have you."

Caroline hollered back an affirmative, disappearing into the masses. Peter glared down at Susan, grabbing her arm firmly. "Why did you do that?"

"I don't know." Susan bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. "I suppose I like watching you squirm."

"Silly girls," Peter grumbled, but he wasn't truly angry. Susan let him lead her to the carpet, already regretting the invitation. Still, it would prove to be a very interesting evening.

"Very interesting indeed…"

"What?"

"Nothing, Peter."


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Hey all, sorry I've haven't been updating as often as usual. Workload has increased, keeping me crazy busy. Inspite of that, hope you enjoy. Ta ta. :)

It had been simple enough to invite Caroline Teverly over for supper, a short, painless exchange. Convincing Mum and Dad to follow through, however, was a whole other matter entirely.

"She said she was sorry," Susan argued plaintively, draping the blankets over the couch for Dad (he'd taken to sleeping there after the Christmas melodrama). He snorted and fluffed his pillows with sharp motions, jaw stubbornly set.

"That girl is trouble, Susan. Mark my words. She's a liar, loose mannered and unpredictable."

"But it's just supper, Dad."

"I don't want you to be associating with her, even for a meal."

"Your father's right," Mum entered the conversation from the kitchen, stepping into the doorway with a dishtowel between her fingertips. "Caroline Teverly is not welcome in this house."

"Listen to yourselves," Susan exclaimed, growing frustrated (they'd been batting this back and forth all evening), "This is a girl we're talking about, not an escaped convict. Granted," she digressed, seeing anger on their faces, "She does have her own…problems. But we aren't perfect, either. We should be showing her kindness and forgiveness, not bitter resentment."

"Susan…" Dad sat down hard on the couch, head hanging.

"Come on," Susan pled softly, taking the pillow out of his hands and placing it against the armrest. "Let's show her what good the Pevensie family is really capable of."

It took a few more tries, but eventually Susan won them over (secretly she thought that they gave in simply because she would not give up). Although Susan was satisfied, she could not bring herself to be pleased. After all, she didn't exactly associate Caroline with pleasant memories.

* * *

"Welcome, my dear," Mum said warmly, taking Caroline's fur-trimmed coat and pointing out the hat hangers. Caroline slipped off her cap and took a quick look around, eyebrows raised skeptically at the simple décor, the classic but humble architecture. However, when Mum turned away from the coat rack with a strained smile, she was greeted with gushes of delight. "Oh, what a beautiful house you have, Mrs. Pevensie! Simple delightful! And so clean!"

"Why thank you," Mum murmured, surprised and flustered. "What a kind thing to say."

"It's the truth." Caroline crossed her fingers behind her back.

Susan observed all this from the stairwell, securing a belt around her waist with steady hands, though there was a sinking feeling burgeoning in her stomach. Already, she could feel the tension growing, seeping through the house as an invisible but potent smoke. At least Dad wouldn't be here.

"I'm afraid Mr. Pevensie won't be joining us tonight," Mum apologized graciously, leading Caroline towards the kitchen. "He was kept late at the office."

"What a shame." Caroline spotted Susan peering over the railing, winked at her. Embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping, Susan scurried into her bedroom, standing before the full-length mirror and doing a quick turn. She looked well enough: white blouse, dark green pencil skirt, matching jacket, and hair in a pageboy. Perhaps her outfit was a bit too fancy for dinner at home, but she wanted to impress Caroline (though she could not have said why).

"You aren't going to wear 'that', are you?" Peter leaned against the doorjamb, buttoning his striped vest.

"Wear what, Peter?" Susan smoothed down the front of her skirt primly.

"That skirt. You'll be uncomfortable all evening."

She couldn't disagree with him, and scowled at his reflection in the mirror. "Just because you're going out of your way to be perfectly unconcerned doesn't mean that I have to."

"I'm trying," he held up his palms in pacification. "I bathed, I'm wearing clean underpants. That's my effort for the evening."

"Thank you for that tidbit of information," Susan whispered, nose wrinkling. Still, she couldn't help but smile, just a little. Peter's lips twitched back awkwardly.

"Well," he quipped, after a moment of silence, "I would change. How about your black skirt, the one with the…" He rolled his flat hand like a wave.

"Ruffles?"

"Yes. Why don't you wear that?"

"It's far to drab, Peter. Besides, she's already seen me." Susan opened the closet, withdrew a pair of low, black heels. "It wouldn't do to change now."

"Fine," Peter shrugged, trying to seem unconcerned. "Wear what you want, but don't say that I didn't warn you."

"Thank you." Susan sat down at her vanity, began applying powder. "Why do you care, anyway?"

Peter crossed the room to the open space before the mirror, adjusting his collar. "I'm your brother."

"And?"

"And I know you, Su. You want to make an good impression."

"Is that such a bad thing?" She glared at his reflection, indignant. Who was he to judge?

Peter shrugged, turning to look at her back with that strange, authoritative air that Susan used to appreciate. Now it just made her angry. "With Caroline Tendum it is."

"It's really none of your business, Peter," Susan sighed, swiping a thin coat of mascara over her lashes, right, then left. "You're not Mum or Dad, you know. I'll befriend whomever I wish to, regardless of your opinion."

Peter's fist slammed into the wall beside the vanity, knocking over a bottle of perfume and rattling Susan's already prickled nerves. She inhaled sharply, clutching the wand hard enough to break. "What in the world was that for, Peter?"

"I…" He stared at the small crack in the plaster with sick detachment, trembling faintly. Susan, not for the first time, found herself frightened of her brother.

"Peter?" His unpredictability made her anxious (Peter had always been predictable). When he didn't reply she looked back to herself in the mirror, chose to apply another coat of mascara.

"I don't know, Su," he finally shuddered, rubbing his bruised knuckles. "I don't know what came over me."

"Is everything all right, dears," Mum inquired from the stairwell, tone light but laced with tightly guarded concern. Presumably Caroline was with her.

"Yes," Susan called back, meticulously laying down her makeup and easing up out of the chair. Shaken, Peter leaned his forehead against the wall and closed his eyes. He didn't try to stop her as she left the room, shutting the door very quietly behind her.

"Ah," Mum cooed as Susan came down the stairs, "There you are, darling. Where is Peter?"

"He's coming. Hello, Caroline." Susan accepted the stiff hug that was thrust upon her, smelling perfumed shampoo and lye soap (strange, that she'd been expecting heavy cologne).

"Susan," Caroline chattered, though not with half the enthusiasm she'd mustered for Mum, "How pretty you look. Is that new?"

"Yes, actually." Glad to be distracted from her plummeting mood, Susan performed a quick pirouette. "It was a Christmas present."

"Oh? From who?"

"From my father. He likes to give practical gifts."

"Lucky girl." Caroline smirked, crossed her arms. "The last gift my Dad ever gave me was a vase full of pink roses. Wilted in two days."

Susan recalled reading his name in the casualty lists last year and quickly changed the subject. "I do like what you're wearing, Caroline. It's so refined."

"Oh, this old thing?" Caroline looked down at her mauve suit, the matching pumps, and the string of pearls around her slender neck. (Susan felt childish in comparison, wishing she'd worn her Sunday best).

"It's simply wonderful, dear," Mum breathed distractedly, as Peter had found his way out of the bedroom and to the stairwell. "At last. You have met Peter, Caroline?"

"Yes, of course." Caroline smirked as Peter came down to stand before her, extending his hand awkwardly.

"It's a pleasure," he lied.

"I'm certain it is."

"Shall we all go into the kitchen," Mum interrupted, sensing the tautness of their exchange. "It won't do for supper to grow cold."

In spite of the ever-present tension and unmentioned displeasure that hung over the foursome as they ate and made small talk, supper went surprisingly well. Mum kept the conversation flowing, Caroline complimented her unstintingly on the roast beef and stewed vegetables, Peter minded his manners (for the most part). Susan denied herself the pleasure of kicking him under the table, still nervous in his presence. If Mum noticed that they avoided each other's eyes for the entire meal, she gave no sign of the knowledge.

After the last bits of table discussion had been resolved and the leftover food tucked away into the icebox, Mum gently pushed Susan and Caroline towards the staircase, clucking her tongue when Susan offered (quietly) to help clean up. "Peter knows how to sweep a floor," she whispered back, "You go on, now. Go be girls."

Of course Caroline had no desire to lay on Susan's bed and chitchat. She shrugged into her coat and opened the front door. "I need a smoke," she grumbled, when Susan weakly protested the sudden chill, "And from the looks of it, so do you."

Susan couldn't deny that. She followed Caroline into the bitter night, accepted the cigarette when it was offered.

"So," Caroline was quick to blurt, although she made the word seem purposeful, and not awkward as Susan would have, "How are you holding up?"

There was no point in pretending not to know what she spoke of. Susan shrugged, looked out at the front lawn, the snowman that the neighbor children had built there. "Alright. I don't like to go out alone. Peter's been walking me to work."

Caroline nodded knowingly. "The first time a man put his hand up my knickers, I wouldn't leave the house for a month. Drove my Mum mad."

Susan blushed furiously, choked on the smoke. "He didn't get that far, thank goodness."

"Bobby's trouble, always has been." Caroline leaned casually against the porch railing, smoothing back her pale, loose hair. "I could have told you that."

"Sorry, I just didn't think to ask." Susan turned her back, suddenly feeling stifled in Caroline's presence. Sensing the darkening of mood, Caroline laid her hand on Susan's back.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Silence.

"Come on, now," Caroline chirped, shivering violently and stomping her feet, "Let's gossip about something else. Oh, I know!"

"What," Susan groused, reluctantly facing the other girl. She didn't want to talk anymore.

Caroline's eyes began to sparkle, and Susan knew what she was going to say before her mouth even opened. "Let's talk about that disturbingly handsome brother of yours."

"Must we?"

"Yes. How old is he?" Caroline stomped out her stub, blew on her gloved hands.

"Peter's nineteen."

"Alright. Does he have a girl?"

"I thought you were with that boy at the party," Susan scowled suspiciously. "Kenny."

"I am." Caroline grinned, laughed a little. "There's no harm in looking around."

"Listen," Susan whispered, leaning into towards the other girl without smiling, "I don't want to hurt your feelings, Caroline. But please, stay away from my brother. He's not…"

"Well?" Unhappy to be thusly spoken to, Caroline leaned back with an impatient frown.

"He's not that kind of fellow."

"Oh." Caroline blinked incredulously. "He's not interested in girls, then?"

"No," Susan exclaimed, now blushing again. "Why do you say such things, Caroline? People just don't discuss…"

"Just wanted to know."

"Peter's not like that. I meant that he's a gentleman."

"Oh. Sorry."

"That's alright. Do you want to go inside?" The conversation was over.

"Um, yes. Lets."

* * *

"I think I know what's wrong with you, Peter," Susan murmured casually, after Caroline had safely been escorted home, and Mum and Dad (newly arrived) had gone into the study to discuss the evening.

Peter turned off the radio with a sharp click, sat down heavily on the couch. "What are you talking about, Susan?"

"I know why you keep hitting things, having explosions of temper. I know the answer."

He gave her a look as if to say 'please, do tell'. Susan sat down beside him.

"You're unhappy," she asserted quickly, "And stifled. You want something that you can't have, and are taking out your frustrations on whatever doesn't fit into your carefully tempered mold."

She expected him to snort derisively, or tell her off, or at least stare in surprise. Instead, he rubbed his forehead in a tired motion, chuckling at the floor between his socks. He didn't reply in any way.

Susan went on. "Something's missing from your life, Peter, something essential, and I can understand your frustration. However, that doesn't mean that you can be so loose with your anger."

"Susan," he interrupted blithely, though the laughter in his voice was rather choked. "Shut up. You're talking about yourself."

"Don't change the subject, Peter. You're not listening."

"No," he exclaimed pointedly, bolting to his feet and turning to face her. "You're the one who won't listen, Susan."

"That's exactly what I mean," Susan grumbled, throwing her hands up with a huff of frustration. "You just 'react', Peter. You don't think about what you're saying first. You never have."

"I'm sorry," he hissed, unwilling to draw Mum and Dad out of the study. "But you've always been excellent at getting me to react, haven't you?"

They glared at each other, he with hands outstretched in an open, helpless gesture, her in tightly withdrawn anger. Neither was willing to give any ground.

"This needs to stop, Peter," Susan ground out, standing and walking towards the stairwell. "I can't take anymore of back and forth, nice and nasty."

"Well, I'm leaving Saturday. You'll be rid of me then."

"Good." Susan rushed up the stairs, paused a few steps up. "But tell me one thing."

"What," he breathed, hurt as bold as anger in the face he turned up to her.

"If I really was talking about myself, as you claim, then what's missing from my life? What do I need, Peter?"

She'd purposefully set herself in a place of vulnerability, and they both knew it. If Peter had been anyone other than who he was, he could have systematically crushed her, word by word. A lesser man wouldn't have hesitated to do so.

Peter wasn't a lesser man. "You should know what you need, Su," he whispered sadly, turning the radio back on, "And if you don't, then I feel sorry for you."

Susan stared at his lowered head, shaking her head in amazement. They were back to square one. She should have never invited Caroline over. "Goodnight, Peter."

"Goodnight, Susan."


	15. Chapter 15

Saturday came and went without any particular madness, just 'see you' and 'goodbye', waving and the customary tears that Susan could not stop from trickling down her cheeks. With Peter went the same emotion that Ed had taken the previous fall, leaving her aching for something she could not identify but wanted with such intensity that she shied away from it, immersing herself in the mundane. Loneliness returned, settled into Susan's skin like the smoke that could be smelled on her person nearly all the time, courtesy of the cigarettes she had begun to smoke on a daily basis. Mum and Dad expressed their disapproval from time to time, but were now beginning to focus on themselves and their own problems (and there were many). They didn't press Susan to quit the habit, so she didn't.

The months passed in a solitary haze, winter turning to spring unexpectedly, surprising her with sprouts of green in the flower beds when she was expecting ice. The snow melted, the sky darkened with rain, Susan worked and slept, listened to the radio, sat in the window seat staring at nothing, passed on talking to her siblings on the telephone when the opportunity was offered. After a while, Mum and Dad stopped asking her, then stopped asking each other. The Pevensie home had become just a house, filled with discontent and tension that grew daily, simply because nothing was being done about the issues at hand.

"I don't know what to think anymore," Mum cried quietly two days before Easter, cornering Susan in the upstairs hallway with arms full of laundry and face full of frustration. "He hasn't slept in my bed since Christmas, he's gone all the time. It's as if he's away at war, all over again."

Susan smiled reassuringly (she hoped), took some of the clothes. "It'll be alright, you'll see."

"I'm not so certain." Laying her bundle on the bed, Mum turned her back on Susan. She began to sort. "Half the time, I don't even want him to come home."

"Are you two…are you not in love anymore?" It was hard for Susan to say, but she needed to know.

"I don't know," Mum mumbled furtively, as if Dad were in the room, though he was at work on the other side of Finchley.

Susan was tired and didn't bother to pursue the subject further, laying down the clothes and retreating to her bedroom. That night, Mum and Dad had a rather ugly row.

"I'm trying to make things better, Hubert. But you just aren't matching my effort," Mum shrieked, at once equally full of anger and terror. Dad loomed over her with a thunderous expression, neck muscles straining. Susan closed the front door very quietly, hung up her coat with shaking fingers.

"You've found someone else, is that it?" Mum pushed his chest with her manicured fingers, breathing heavily (Susan had never seen her so furious). "Are you going to leave me?"

"Helen," Dad hummed warningly, capturing her hand within his own.

"Well I say that's fine. Good riddance! It'll be easier to live without you."

He flinched visibly, backhanded her in a pain-fueled impulse before he could stop himself. She stumbled back, sat down heavily on the couch. Susan, hiding in the shadows, forgot to breathe for a moment.

"Bloody…Helen, love," he stepped towards her haltingly, attempting to undo the damage before it settled in. Mum was in shock, didn't try to stop him as he drew her up into his arms, kissed her hair with trembling lips. "Helen, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She didn't pull away, but she didn't sink against him either. "What are we going to do, Hubert?"

"I don't know."

Susan didn't know either. But she knew someone who might.

* * *

"Peter?"

"Susan?" His voice on the other line was rather shocked. That was understandable, considering that they hadn't spoken since January.

"Yes. It's Susan. Listen," she went on, before they could lapse into awkward silence, "Could you do me a favor?"

"Of course. What do you need?" There was no hesitation in his tone now that duty was into play.

"I need the number to Lucy's school. Do you have it?"

"Um, yes. Just a moment." He stepped away, rustling faintly in the receiver."…Right then. Ready?"

"Yes." She copied down the number with her eyes glued to the staircase (Dad was still downstairs, making a ruckus of cleaning out his desk drawers). "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Silence. Susan moved to place down the receiver.

"Wait, Susan."

She gripped the telephone hard, sighed. "What?"

"Is everything alright?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Don't start that. Just tell me yes, or no."

"No, actually," Susan ground out, planting her free hand on her hip. "Everything is not 'alright.'"

"Well," he pressed in sharp, growing concern, when she refused to elaborate further, "What's the matter?"

"Oh, I don't know." Susan knew she was being cruel, took a twisted pleasure from the knowledge. "Maybe if you would come home for Easter, you'd find out."

He moaned, tone resembling that of the angry barn cats Susan remembered from their stay at the Professor's. "You know I can't, Su. I've got work to do."

"Well, then. I guess you'll just have to call Lucy and Edmund. They'll know in a bit."

"Susan."

She hung up.

* * *

"Send them on a date," Lucy promptly and incredulously advised, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Susan shook her head.

"You don't understand, Lu. They can barely handle being in the same house together anymore. They sleep in separate beds; he eats in the study during supper. She won't even wash his dirty dishes."

"Who washes them, then?"

Susan snorted, rubbed the back of her neck. "I do."

"Send them on a date, Su. It'll do a world of good."

"You don't understand…"

"Well," Lucy huffed, mildly annoyed, "If you don't want my advice, why did you bother to call me at all?"

"Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice," Susan whispered, suddenly very, very tired.

"That's sweet, Susan, but I don't believe you. You and I both know that when it comes to public relations, I have the advantage. Why, Peter always assigned me to the delegates at Cair Paravel…"

"That was a game, Lu. This is reality that we're dealing with here."

Lucy didn't reply, and Susan blithely thought that she was sore over being scolded. "What?"

"Why did you just call Narnia a game, Susan?" Lucy's voice was as careful as Susan had ever heard it.

"Because that's what it was, Lu." Susan wiped an invisible piece of lint off her skirt. "But that's not the subject at hand."

"A date, Susan." Lucy had abruptly withdrawn, her voice cool, and Susan could not fathom why. "You wanted my opinion, didn't you? There it is."

"Oh, alright. I suppose I could try it." Susan waited for Lucy to start chatting about something else, but heard only breathing. "How are you," she weakly probed, a seed of anxiety stirring in her stomach.

"I'm fine."

"Come on, Lu," Susan laughed, a frown forming between her eyebrows. "We haven't had a good conversation in months. So start talking already."

"I have to go, Susan." Lucy sounded on the verge of tears. "Goodbye."

"What? Lucy?" The line went dead. "Lucy!"

Susan slammed down the receiver, lips tightly shut. "What is 'wrong' with everybody lately?!"

"What was that, darling," Mum inquired from the bathroom, voice faintly strained.

"Nothing," Susan called back sweetly, and stormed off to find her cigarettes.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: Wow. This was a hard chappie to write, but I got there. Yay! Thanks for hanging in there with me, hope you enjoy. :)_

By the time Susan had gathered enough courage to suggest Lucy's proposal (quickly, without positive response), Easter had come and gone in a haze of pageantry and potlucks, suffused with good cheer, but ultimately lighting no spark in Susan's soul. Still, the beauty of dawn took on fresh meaning, as it did every year. Mum began to replant the thawed garden; Dad pumped up the tires on his bike, starting riding it to work. Spring was in its peak, full-blossomed and pale green, provoking great bouts of sneezing as Susan walked to the library. It was during one of these pollen-infested journeys that Susan encountered Robert Sandhowler again.

At first she didn't see him, because her own eyes were cast down, hawkishly studying the blurry sidewalk for cracks (uneven to the left, don't step 'there', oh, huge one ahead). Then a strong shoulder knocked her off balance and nearly sent her careening into the auto-infested street. Susan was tired and depressed, and would have kept walking if a voice, and a strangely familiar smell, had not stopped her feet and tilted her head up.

He was with another girl, of course, a leggy blond in a white suit (where did she get that?) and matching heels. Her eyes were wide and bright blue; her expression was innocent and mildly concerned, not at all catty like Susan's as she sized her up.

"Hello, Susan." Robert smiled blithely, adam's apple bobbing.

"Robert," she hissed, partially out of lingering anger, but mostly to cover the fear that rooted her to the cement upon meeting his eyes, heart pounding, memories of helplessness flooding back.

"We're so sorry," the blond breathed, voice deep and sultry. She extended a slender, pacifying hand towards Susan's stiff figure. "I do hope you're alright?"

"I'm well enough," Susan said politely, ascertaining that the girl was oblivious, "Considering."

"Robert's never been good with traffic," the blond went on, chuckling throatily.

"I know." Susan adjusted the strap on her purse.

"You do?" Now the girl looked more closely. "You know this lady, Robert?"

Robert cleared his throat. "Um, yes. This is…"

"Susan Pevensie." Susan did not try to smile. She had just seen the wedding band on Blondie's finger. Her stomach clenched. "Well, it was nice running into you folks, but I really must be getting to work. Excuse me." She turned away, marched purposefully towards the library, looming ahead as a beacon of safety.

"Of course," the blond murmured, but Robert wouldn't let Susan go that easily. He gave chase with a shout. Susan began to walk faster.

"Susan!" He grabbed her arm, jerked her to a stop. Susan shut her eyes tightly, tried to stop her body from trembling.

"What do you want, Robert?"

"Susan, Susan," he whispered intimately, clucking his tongue when she jerked away.

"How dare you touch me." She wanted to hit him.

"Susan," he repeated, causing her eyes to flutter open, brimming with mistrust. "Don't be so frantic. I just want to talk."

"What about your lady friend?" The poor girl had sunk onto a bench, watching them with wide eyes.

Robert's jaw clenched, working soundlessly. "She'll wait for me," he grunted, dismissive.

He had taken her arm again, gripping it tightly between his large fingertips, expression guarded and expectant. Susan knew that he wouldn't relent. "So talk," she finally sighed, staring at a cluster of rose bushes to their right. "But be quick about it. I really do have to go."

She'd half-expected him to apologize, to beg her forgiveness (it would have been very satisfying not to give it). Instead, he leaned forward with great solemnity and pecked her cheek. "I want to see you again. When would be a good time?"

Silence. Susan stared at him in shock, watery-eyed. "What?"

"I still like you, Susan, in spite of what's occurred. Sure, your family's a bit," he wiggled his fingers, "Brash, but you…you're irresistible."

She couldn't find any words. There were none.

"You're prettier than ever," he went on, voice tinged with admiration. "Have you lost weight?"

"Have you lost your mind?" Susan looked up into his strangely honest eyes with quiet contempt. "How long have you been married?"

"What?" A quick glance back, barking laughter. "Oh, no. That's my sister Daisy. She's a sweetheart. Susan," he touched her hair briefly, " You're my girl. I'd never cheat on you, I swear."

"But you'd betray me? Is that it," Susan breathed, fear rising, "You're a beast, Robert Sandhowler."

"You didn't tell me no," he returned promptly.

"As I recall," Susan ripped herself away, stumbling back, "You wouldn't let me say anything at all."

"How's Tuesday afternoon, three o' clock?"

"You stay away from me," Susan cried, voice loud enough to carry down the sidewalk, catching the attention of a patrol officer.

"Is everything alright, miss? This bloke giving you any trouble?" He stared at Robert suspiciously.

"Yes, he is."

"Well then." The officer stepped in front of her, fingering his club threateningly. "We can't have that. I suggest you clear out of here, lad, before I take you in."

Robert was bold with women, but not with police. He turned heel and collected Daisy without another word, glancing back once beneath hooded lashes. Susan could not read the expression in them.

"What's his name then, love," the officer prodded Susan sympathetically.

"Robert Sandhowler." She stared at their retreating backs in a blank daze, suddenly drained.

"Right." He wrote something in his little black book. "I know you. You work at the library, yonder?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm Officer Gregory. If he gives you any more trouble, just give me a call at the station. We'll look into it straight away." He patted her arm. "Allow me to escort you home?"

"I was going to work, actually," Susan said firmly, regaining her equilibrium. "But thank you."

"Anytime."

* * *

It didn't take much time after that episode for Susan to recognize her own vulnerability. She was young, lovely (it didn't take an overblown ego to acknowledge that), lonely, and mostly alone. Mum and Dad did not see her as a child any more; they let her live in the house, eat the food, rack up the energy bill by listening to the radio constantly, but sought to give her personal space. This was welcome in some aspects, but not in others. When Susan suggested to Dad that perhaps she needed to find work closer to home, he shrugged, shoved another forkful of stew into his mouth.

"You do what seems best to you, darling." And that was that. Mum was no more helpful.

Susan did not know what was 'best', had no wisdom to apply to her predicament. All she knew was that she felt unsafe, all over again. Christmas had returned.

There was an opening at Dad's office, a secretarial position. Susan applied for it, put in her two weeks notice at the library. When another girl took the job (her father had more clout, it seemed), Susan was almost relieved. She sequestered herself in her bedroom, pretending to be scouring the paper for work. In truth, she lay on the bed in perpetual exhaustion, staring at the ceiling, tuning out the shouting from downstairs with little effort. There wasn't much that affected her. Not anymore.

(She liked to believe that).


	17. Chapter 17

"Why don't I want to go home?"

Lucy's tentative question (more a self-directed whisper than actual vocalization) blurted out of her mouth, moisturized the windowpane, blurred the passing countryside into a muddy brown-green streak, reached Edmund's ears as something to be replied to very carefully. He glanced at her warily from over his thermos of tea, taking in the pseudo-casual manner: stocking-clad feet propped up on a pillow, back against the burgundy panels, now turning onto her stomach, left arm hanging limply to the floor. She stretched to press her palm flat against the trembling wood, felt the train rush over the tracks without any of her customary exultation.

"Ed," she whined, when he didn't respond promptly. Her hand arched up, fingertips tapping impatiently. Tap. Tap.

"I don't know," he mumbled, feeling evasive. She glared at him from behind her hair. "Perhaps," he tried, for her sake, "You're missing friends at school?"

"Not likely." she said with a derisive snort, tracing figure eights. "They're silly girls, giggling behind their hands all the time. Life's only about red lipstick and kissing boys to them. They don't like anything really useful. I stopped trying to make friends when they polled to have the tennis court removed."

"Oh." Ed took a sip of his tea.

"But now that I've actually escaped," she growled, feeding her own frustration, "I wish I could go back. It's positively bothersome!"

"Shhh," Ed hissed, holding a finger to his lips, glancing to his right. Lucy pouted contritely.

"It's not that I want to be at school," she went on in a quieter tone, "I just don't want to be at home."

There was something she wasn't saying, something lurking behind her words that made Edmund cap his drink, set it down so he could concentrate on her fully. "What's wrong, Lu?"

"I just told you…"

"No, you didn't."

Peter snored softly from the other end of Ed's bench, pale head lolling forward into the sunlight. The dark circles around his lidded eyes, the sharp lines at the corners of his mouth were back, having been absent since their first return from Narnia. He was beginning to look burdened again.

Sure, school was difficult. Being in England was difficult too. But those weren't the issues at hand, and they both knew it.

"Susan," Lucy stated, and there was far too much meaning therein to be compartmentalized.

"Susan," Ed agreed, crossing his arms.

"What are we going to do, Ed?" Lucy reached out further, toyed solemnly with Peter's frayed shoelaces. "I miss our family so. Nothing's as it used to be."

Ed shrugged, shut his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the tears forming in hers. "I don't know."

"Why has so much cha…"

"I don't know," he repeated forcefully, was rewarded by brief silence.

"…We need Aslan," she whispered with great sadness.

Ed hesitated, tilted his head back against the wall. "I know."

* * *

Only Mum was there to greet them at the door, a soft smile painted onto her drawn face, dust rag clenched in her fist. She kissed them each ever so gently (and quietly), let them into the house without a word. There was not a speck of dirt in sight, the furniture was perfectly aligned, an aromatic smell drifted out from the kitchen. It wasn't at all natural.

"Where's Dad?" Peter inquired, poking his head briefly into the office.

"Oh, he's at the office," Mum said sweetly, preceding Lucy and Edmund into the kitchen. "Come along, dears. You must tell me about the train ride." She lowered the oven door to retrieve the family's only stew pot. "Sit down and eat. I just warmed it up."

"Didn't he know we were coming today?" Peter sat down at the table with a frown.

"He did," Mum edged, ladling soup into bowls, "But there was so much work to be done, you see. So much business. He'll see you all tonight."

"What about Susan," Lucy inquired hesitantly, as supper was set down before her. "Thanks, Mum."

"Well," Mum paused to kiss the top of Lucy's head, "I imagine she's in her room."

"Her room?"

"She's been feeling poorly lately. Headaches and what not."

"I'm sure she has," Peter stated cryptically, didn't apologize when Mum shot him a warning glare.

"Perhaps," Mum (with merciful warmth) went on, preparing a tray, "One of you could take a bowl up to her?"

Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably. Lucy concentrated hard on a floating piece of potato, faint smile fading away into nothingness. Mum stared at them, silently stunned. None of her children had ever refused to help each other before.

"I'll do it," Ed volunteered after an extremely awkward moment, pushing away from the table (the squeal was unbearably loud) and wiggling the tray from between Mum's nerveless fingers.

"Thank you, Edmund," she said in that quiet tone parents use when they're about to begin an interrogation. He hurried from the room as fast as he could without spilling the soup.

With both hands full, he couldn't knock on Susan's door, and the silence was too settled to disturb it by shouting. He twisted the knob with an upward jab of his hipbone, slipped through without a word of warning. This he immediately regretted because A: the curtains were drawn, and Susan could have flipped the light switch, and B: she nearly jumped out her skin. Embarrassment had always been prone to making Susan irritable.

"Um, hi," he grunted when she just stared at him, ghostly pale and stark, surrounded by shadows. The whites of her eyes were not white, but a pink that made the guarded irises pop unnaturally. Skeletally shaded fingers gripped the sheets up to her chin, but Ed could see the fluffy collar of her favorite nightgown. Her hair was a dull mess, pursed lips dry and beige instead of soft and pink. If the accusing look stealing over her face hadn't been so familiar to Edmund, he might have thought that a stranger was sleeping in his sister's bed. As it was, she looked terrible, as if awakened from a haunting nightmare.

"I brought you supper," he stammered, tiptoeing his way to the bedstead and setting down the tray before he spilled it in his nervousness. There was a strangeness in the air that made him instantly want to leave, but this was his sister. He peered down at her with narrowed eyes, as if in examination, forced himself to smirk. "No wonder you're hiding away. You're starting to resemble Great-aunt Claris, and that's not a compliment. "

She didn't respond, though she tried, parting and licking her lips in preparation of speech. The only response she gave was a twitch of the hand that clutched the blankets. That was enough for Edmund, who was beginning to feel more than a little claustrophobic.

"Well…I'll be going back downstairs then." Silence. "Right." He strode towards the door.

Then suddenly she was up and turning him around, pressing her cold body against his, arms clutching painfully around his shoulders in something that vaguely resembled a hug, but couldn't really be classified as one. The embrace was too anxious, the touch too grasping, as if he would fade away into a dream if she didn't squeeze him as tightly as possible.

"Um, Su," he wheezed inquiringly, tightening in instinctive panic (he did not like being touched, as a general rule).

"Don't burn," she whispered against his neck, and he could have sworn later that he'd felt dampness where her cheek pressed against his collarbone. "Please don't do it."

"The soup," he squeaked in desperation, pinned arms twitching towards the bedstead. "It's going to get cold."

When she released him (abruptly, with downcast eyes), he immediately felt foolish for making such a fuss. He flipped on the lamp to placate her.

Susan sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, seemingly in control of herself (he wondered what had possessed her, for a brief moment, but the light seemed to be helping). "What is it?"

"It's soup," he blurted.

"Really, silly." Sarcasm. A surge of relief flooded over him. "What kind of soup?"

"…I don't know." He sat down beside her reluctantly, afraid that if he tried to leave she would attack him again. "Mum made it."

She didn't grace that with a reply, just grunted and pulled the tray into her lap. "I didn't know you were due back today, or I would have come downstairs."

"Mum didn't tell you?"

"I don't remember." She shook her head, made a tentative pass at a noodle with the spoon.

"That's alright. You are sick."

"Hmm." She sighed, placed the tray back on the table with an expression of distaste. "Where are Lucy and Peter?"

"They're downstairs. Eating. Famished, I suspect." He didn't mention that Mum was probably reading their rights at that very moment, but Susan chuckled as if she knew anyway, coughed.

"Well…"

"Yeah."

There was no more to say, or at least no more that they were willing to say. Susan waved him away pseudo-blithely. "Go eat. You look hungry."

"I am." He seized on the opportunity and darted for the door, shoes clunking on the panels. "Do you want me to leave the light on?"

She looked so forlorn, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed, legs dangling, embarrassment finally catching up to her. "No, thank you."

"Right."

"I'll just sleep some more, I think. Rest is best when one is ill."

"Naturally." This was ridiculous. He swung open the door, scurried into the light-flooded hallway.

_Susan never touched him like that again. On a very different day, in a very different world, he would recall that moment with newfound clarity, and come to an understanding that would make him ache inside. If only he had known..._


	18. Chapter 18

"You said she was tired?"

"…Not exactly."

"Perhaps we shouldn't bother her. She may not like it."

Snort. "Who likes being bothered, Lu?"

They were certain she was unwell. Susan could tell by the awkward footsteps outside her bedroom, the quiet, worried whispering that she shouldn't have heard, but did. They didn't knock on the door, tiptoed away, as if she would be cured by prolonged solitude. The rustling faded away into silence, punctured only by wind humming against the windowpane, the heave of her own breathing, the stagnant muddle that her thoughts had become.

She would be left alone, then. This was not an ideal resolution, but Susan couldn't bring herself to do anything to change the fact, had already embarrassed herself by accosting Ed in a surge of emotionality, blurting nonsensical things.

A door swung shut down the hall, on the left side. That would be the boys' bedroom. No doubt the threesome had sequestered themselves within it, shutting out the tension, laughing softly beneath their breaths. This made Susan angry, because she needed to laugh too, hadn't forgotten how it good it made her feel. Still, she didn't throw back the covers, stayed beneath them out of her own cowardice. It was easier to stay hidden, to not see the inevitable disappointment in their eyes.

In the end, it was a basic, rather embarrassing need that urged her to the bathroom, which (of course) was occupied. Susan leaned up against the wall, knees weak and heart pounding (when had a simple walk down the hallway become so exhausting?)

"Come on," she grumbled under her breath after nearly five minutes, hearing a page turn. She knocked hard on the door.

"Just a moment!" It was Peter. How ironic. Susan had enough presence of mind not to laugh in his face when he threw open the door and gaped at her, taking in the lackluster, weary visage with loose jaw and confounded eyes. Sure enough, he looked disappointed.

"What," she croaked, tilting her head back to look fully into his face. "No 'hello, Su?'"

He blinked, mouth moving wordlessly. She brushed past him into the bathroom, shut the door on his fingers, wincing when he yelped (that hadn't been on purpose).

"Susan," he murmured against the wooden frame, regaining his composure, "Are you…are you alright?"

"Yes." She sat down on the loo with sigh of frustration, unwilling to relieve herself with him nearby.

"Are you quite certain?"

"Peter."

"What?"

"Go away."

There was blessed quiet, which she perceived as acquiescence. However, he was still there when she emerged, his shoulders tense, eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Why do you care?" She walked away, back towards her bedroom.

He caught her wrist, stopped her movement with surprising gentleness. "Susan, you look absolutely awful," he announced firmly, somewhat mockingly, as if she should already know. (She did.)

"I do not," she huffed, yanking out of his grasp, detesting his touch and careless words.

He reached for her again, sighed when she evaded his hand. "Susan…Susan! Stop it."

"Mind your own business, Peter," Susan hissed, resisting the urge to smack his face. The desire must have shown in her eyes, however, because he sighed, backed away.

"I just want to help you." Stony, purposeful silence on her part, meant to deter. "Please, Su?"

"You've helped enough," Susan said coldly to the floor. "Just leave me alone, Peter."

"Fine. Alright," he replied simply, but with an astringent undertone that made Susan cringe. He turned heel and walked away, seemingly unconcerned with her dismissal, save for the tense set of his shoulders. This sudden indifference was in itself an insult, and Susan bristled indignantly. (She hadn't thought he'd actually obey her.) Against her better judgement, she followed him into the boys' bedroom.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The words were out of her mouth before she'd analyzed them, bitter and petulant, when they should have been proud and inquisitive. Not that it mattered. The results were the same, would have been the same whatever her tone: Peter ignored her completely, sat down beside Lucy on his bed, leaning in towards the book she was reading with a faint smile of contentment. Susan didn't even exist.

This wouldn't do. "Peter." No response. Perhaps Lucy would help. Susan cast pleading eyes in her sister's direction.

Lucy glanced up at her, eyes widening in shock. Then, just as quickly, her gaze turned sour, narrowing and growing cold. There was no trace of pity, no softness in their depths, only the merest touch of the guilt and concern that once would have overwhelmed, sent her running into Susan's arms in a flood of tears and kisses.

"Peter," Lucy inquired softly, leaning into her brother's side, eyes leaving Susan in favor of their brother, "Maybe we could go out for an ice cream? It's dreadfully hot."

"Of course, Lu," he replied, kissing the top of her hair solicitously. They rose as one from the bed. Susan stepped aside, letting them pass in stunned silence.

"Oh." Lucy paused in the doorway, turning towards Susan with a forced smile. "You're welcome to come along if you'd like, Susan." Her voice was that of a stranger.

"No thanks," Susan said automatically.

"Ed," Lucy went on in a warmer tone, straining her eyes towards the back of the room. (Only then did Susan become aware of Edmund seated at his desk, body bent forward over one of his many puzzles, eyes trained on the proceedings with an unreadable expression). He shook his head, clicked a tile into place.

And just like that, Peter and Lucy were gone. It was as if they'd never been there, the luggage propped up against the door and the book lying on the bed ghost-like and disturbing to look upon. Susan left the suitcase where it was, but confiscated the latter, tucking it neatly back into it's proper place between Dickens and Darwin on Peter's book shelf.

"They'll come around," Edmund said calmly, searching for a green piece to complete the grassy border. "They're angry with you, but they'll come around."

"Why didn't you go with them?" Susan sat gingerly on the edge of Ed's bed, scratched her itchy scalp.

"Didn't want to," was the understated reply, followed by a hum of appreciation as he connected a yellow flower into the growing picture.

"Hmm," Susan replied just as eloquently, scooting up against the pillows and crossing her ankles.

Snap. Another piece fell into place.

* * *

"Peter?"

He was used to people calling his name. Superiors, subjects, enemies, friends. Over time, he'd learned to be diligent and come to attention in spite of reluctance, warranted or otherwise. He took a certain amount of pride from his self-sacrifice, that he was always available, never isolated…until today, when he'd spurned family. Now Lucy's voice, her incessant tugging on his arm, only served to bring his personal remorse to greater heights. She was starting to sound like a younger version of Susan again.

He looked down into her hazelnut eyes, saw his error reflected and absorbed in them. That was another thing. Usually when he messed up, Lucy would scold him, patiently scorch his soul with her doleful innocence, her gentle ways. Now she was just as guilt-ridden as he was, for they had both sinned, in mutual agreement.

"Yes, Lu?"

"I'm actually not very hungry," she whispered, and he could understand why. "Can't we just walk around for a bit?"

He nodded in agreement, clasped her small, warm hand in his own. They veered away from the vendor stands and circled the park slowly, twin heads bowed in melancholy, though the sun shone as brightly as it ever had in Narnia.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as they passed by the swing sets, occupied by squealing children and their watchful parents.

"Me too," Lucy sighed, pouting. Peter shook his head. She didn't understand.

"No. I'm apologizing to you, Lucy."

Now she looked up at him in surprise, squeezing his fingertips. "Why?"

Peter shook his head, mouth pursed. "I haven't been a good example to you and Edmund, lately. I've been cruel, and jealous, and I'm sorry." They stopped walking.

"Don't do that, Peter." She stepped in front of him, grabbed his other hand and chafed both of them between her own. Queen Lucy the Valiant glinted in her eyes. "Don't take it all on yourself. I won't allow it."

"It's my fault," he whispered, suddenly heartsick.

"It's 'our' fault," Lucy countered quietly, looking down at her frayed shoelaces. "All of us."

"You don't understand, Lu." This was proving to be surprisingly difficult. "Susan and I…we've been quarreling since this summer past. Well," he admitted when she gave him a probing look, "More than quarreling. Waging silent war."

"I know," she said simply, smiled when he blinked incredulously. "You called me, you told me, remember?"

"I told you that we'd had a fight. I…I didn't want to worry you with the rest."

"Do you really think I'm that stupid, Peter?" Coming from Susan, that would have made his defenses fly up. From Lucy, who said it with such gentility, a teasing smile on her lips, it made him chuckle mirthlessly. "I'm not oblivious, nor fragile."

"I know you're not," he agreed, and in a sudden surge of emotion clasped her against his chest, laid his cheek atop her cheery-scented hair. "But I'm sorry all the same."

"I forgive you." She closed her eyes and listened to his heart beat a steady rhythm.

He got antsy after a moment, and pulled away, ruffling her hair with a nervous laugh. "Good."

"Come on," she giggled, biting her lower lip and tugging on his hands. "I want that ice cream now."


	19. Chapter 19

Edmund almost decided to escape with Peter and Lucy, smelled Susan's sweat and rancor from the doorway, crushed one of his puzzle pieces between thumb and forefinger in anticipation of drama. For that was the proper name for all of this, without a doubt. Drama. Nonsense. Silliness. Ed could bring to mind dozens of synonyms to describe the ridiculousness (there was another one) of the entire situation.

There was a rebel space in the back his mind that envisioned getting out of the chair, walking out the front door with his siblings, pretending for an afternoon that everything was settled, peaceful. It would be nice.

However, there was no logical outcome for such an action, so Edmund didn't do it. He concentrated on his puzzle.

"Ed…" It had been quiet for so long, he had forgotten she was still there. He glanced over briefly at her unwashed face, shiny and melancholy in the weak sunlight, and raised an eyebrow.

"What is it, Su?" That had come out too forgiving. He was still angry.

"I," Susan paused, mouth open, "I…never mind."

Perhaps she sensed his hidden ire. Edmund felt a pang of sympathy, but not enough to make him press her. He rolled his eyes, looked away.

_**Talk to her**._

"What," he said aloud, jumping in his seat. Goosebumps rose on his skin.

"What," Susan repeated, but she hadn't heard the voice, only seen his reaction.

He closed his eyes, waited for the words to come again. His heart was suddenly pounding, pushing at the barrier of his ribcage. Edmund pressed a palm to his forehead.

"Ed, what's wrong?" Susan rustled, rested a clammy hand on his upper back. "Are you ill?"

_**Talk to her, Edmund**._

There could be no doubt of it. Edmund chuckled, filled with a strange, awkward relief. He knew that voice.

"Ed." She was getting impatient now.

"Sorry." He lifted her hand off his neck, squeezed it. "Just a sudden headache." If he spoke frankly, doubtless she would laugh at him. Susan didn't believe in Narnia anymore.

"Anything I can do?" Susan withdrew her hand, eased herself off the bed.

He needed to be alone. "I'm a bit thirsty."

"I'll fetch some tea for you." Susan scurried out the door, unnerved. Unknown to Edmund, she had also perceived a familiar presence. The hairs on her arms tingled nervously. Best to run.

* * *

"I'm telling the truth," Edmund exclaimed with no small amount of exasperation, throwing a pillow at the silhouette standing before their shared dresser. Peter caught the projectile smoothly with one hand, continued buttoning his nightshirt with the other. "You just don't want to believe me."

"Ed," Peter groaned (they'd been through this twice already), "I don't want to talk about it right now, alright? I want to sleep." He threw the pillow back.

Ed seized it cleanly, tucked it behind his neck. "Ignoring the problem won't make it go away, Peter. We've been given a direct order."

"_You_ have," Peter groused, sliding into bed, "And besides; how can you be certain that it was Aslan you heard?"

"Well, who else could it have been?"

"...Maybe it was just your conscience."

"Either way," Ed ventured cautiously, sensing the disquiet seething beneath Peter's denial, "Shouldn't I listen?"

"I think," Peter yawned, drawing the sheets over his head, "That you need some rest."

"You really don't believe me." Ed stared at the shifting lump with a dark frown.

"Ed…"

"Fine. Fine. Tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Ed."

"Night, Peter."

* * *

"Well, I believe you," Lucy proclaimed graciously, stretching on tiptoe to secure a wet blanket to their clothesline. "Peter's just being stubborn. You know how he gets."

Ed passed her a clip, "Hmmm. Terrible timing though."

"Hmmm," Lucy agreed, stepping back. The blanket surged in a gust of air, sprinkling their bare feet with cool droplets. "I think you 'should' talk to Susan, really. After all," she patted his hand moistly, "You understand what it's like to be in a muddle."

No shame rose up within him as she said this. It was a good day. "Yes."

He wanted to discuss it further, but Mum was weeding the garden not three yards away, and might overhear their Narnia talk. It could wait.

"Lucy," Dad called, blond head peeking around the doorframe, "Could you help your sister with supper? We'll be eating at midnight, the rate she's going."

Lucy nudged Edmund in the ribs, hard. "Here's your chance."

Ed approached the house, forcing a smile (nothing was quite the same with Dad, since Christmas). "I'll do it."

Dad clapped Ed's shoulder with a laugh, shaking his head. "What are you talking about, lad? That's women's work in there."

Ed quavered beneath the impenetrable gaze. "I know, Dad. But…"

"Lucy can assist Susan well enough. Peter's fixing the porch steps, you go help him with that."

Edmund studied his father closely, gauging if he could push him. No. Not today. The blue eyes were bloodshot and shifty.

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good man. Off you go."

There was nothing to do but obey. The talk would have to wait, it seemed.

_Sorry, Aslan._


End file.
